


Auribus Teneo Lupum II: Praeditos

by Shiguresan



Series: Auribus Teneo Lupum [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Animal Behaviour, Animalistic, Bottom Harry, Established Relationship, M/M, Male Lactation, Male Slash, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Mpreg Harry, Submissive Harry, Werewolf Sex, Werewolves, Wolf Pack, beastiality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-15 17:57:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 89,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5794243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiguresan/pseuds/Shiguresan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Around four years later and Harry and Fenrir are faced with the constant task of balancing themselves between the werewolf and wizarding world; trying to do the best for both as well as their family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ambivalence

**Author's Note:**

> Wow so my month to get this out turned into nearly a year. Insane. I am so sorry for being so slow with this everyone; real life just had a little rollercoaster ride with me last year but I have been writing this slowly but surely wherever I could. It is now complete and I will be uploading the parts every Saturday until it’s all posted ;) It’s not as long or as dramatic as the first story, it’s more an extended epilogue of sorts, a few things that couldn’t be included before but that I wanted to explore with you all.
> 
> Hope it doesn’t disappoint and that you find it worth the wait :) If you have any requests you’d like to see please let me know and I will see if I can work them in.

Ambivalence

Chapter One

“Centuries ago it's said that a human, a witch fell in love with a werewolf. Their love was such that the prejudice of the world could not stop it. They were drawn together as irrevocably as the sun is drawn down each night to kiss the horizon. But the werewolf treasured her so greatly that he feared what he might do to her by accident – turning the rest of the world on her as it was on him. He didn’t want her to become a hunted pariah like he was.

 

“It was a different world back then. Werewolves were shunned from society, staked to the ground with silver if they were discovered and werewolf packs did not accept humans among them either. Not to be kept apart, the witch merged werewolf and wizarding magic – _blood magic_ carried through her werewolf lover's veins to gift her body with resistance to the werewolf venom...”

 

“How did the original witch make herself restant?” Teddy asked, stammering over the last word as he always did, currently lavender eyes wide as he lay with his bright pink head on Harry's knee. They were all sprawled in Echo and Draco's den around the warm fire, cushions and furs providing comfort to their odd little group as Teddy, Vilkas and Kirian forced Harry to retell their favourite story.

 

Vilkas sat with his legs crossed and hand caressing Ghost's fur where he lay entwined with them, Draco's bare feet buried under Ghost's warm underbelly and knees drawn up as he eyed the final member of their regular group warily. The seven month-old with the bright shock of platinum blonde curls was lying on her belly, head and arms unsteady but growing stronger. She kicked her chubby legs out fitfully, trying to look at all of them at once.

 

“She'll be crawling soon,” Draco noted and Harry smirked.

 

“You say that with such dread,” he mused.

 

Draco's nose, the same perfectly angled nose that the little girl had, wrinkled slightly. “She's a nosey little brat; she's going to get into all sorts of trouble...”

 

Astrid was already always trying to roll and crawl away, gleefully ( _knowingly_ ) commanding the adoration of the entire pack. She was stunning, rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed and Harry had to admit she'd gotten a lot of that from Draco, not that he'd ever admit it to Draco himself.

 

At Draco's words, Kirian, who'd been curled up into Harry's side, raised his head slightly, his darkest auburn hair standing up at all angles just like Harry's. “I help watch her Uncle Draco,” he said helpfully, sitting up a little straighter. “I always win at shadows.” Shadows, the game he, Vilkas and Teddy played together that involved watching then mimicking the others' movements carefully and then the loser being chased by the 'winners'. Usually it involved a lot of shrieking and tackling each other to the ground.

 

“Nevermind that, finish the story quick or we'll run out of time before bed!” Vilkas said excitedly, at the age now where babies and girls in particular were the least exciting thing – blood, witches and rituals were much more exciting. Harry smirked and wrapped an arm round Kirian, relishing in the scent that lifted from his son's hair when he dragged his fingers through it distractedly.

 

Remus and Tonks had asked Harry to have Teddy tonight while they enjoyed a rare evening to themselves. They would be arriving soon to pick him up though. Flicking his wrist, Harry checked the time with a quick _Tempus_ and realised how little time was left before bed. He focussed his gaze on Teddy to answer his question.

 

“No one really knows everything,” he said, “Draco, Snape, Eithne and I have managed to find out the gist of it. We think she mixed her blood with her lover’s and somehow used a potion or spell to…seal the venom within her own blood. So that her body would take it in alongside her own to make it stronger, become impregnated with the venom rather than infected by it.”

 

These children would never know the significance of the parallels Harry had drawn between this and the way the sword of Gryffindor drew in the basilisk venom. That was something he was glad of though, even if it would make it easier to understand. “After that, the gift was a part of her, her blood, her DNA or whatever you want to call it. Her immunity from the venom allowed her to have children with her werewolf partner and we believe she created a more simplified ritual that shared her gifted blood with others. The same one I was able to use to help Draco and Tonks.”

"Have you done it lots? The ritual?"

 

Harry smiled at Teddy's earnest expression. "Some, in the last few years," he replied. "We haven't made an announcement or anything but you know...word travels."

 

Vilkas cocked his head. "We haven't had hardly any outsiders come here to ask," he said, brow furrowed. "Do they not know?"

 

Harry glanced to Draco uncertainly for a moment. How did you tell young children about how some might try and abuse the gift Harry could share with them? How some werewolves might try and force a human counterpart into the life that Draco, Tonks and the partners of a few other pack members had chosen? Dragging his fingers thoughtfully through Kirian's dark auburn hair, Harry settled on, "Maybe they haven't found the right person to share it with or they just haven't heard yet."

 

They seemed satisfied with this, for now and Harry was grateful. At this moment, Astrid chose to unwittingly play the distraction technique in his aid, rolling off the rug and squealing excitedly as he pulled herself across the smooth floor toward the door. Before Draco could even twitch, Kirian and Teddy had leapt toward her, between them chasing her back toward the safe-zone of the rug area. She shrieked happily. Draco groaned.

 

"She'll be a terror when she's older," he complained.

 

Harry's mouth twisted wryly. "Like her _mum_ then," he mused, remembering well how Draco had used the word to taunt him when Kirian was much smaller. Oh, how the tables had turned. Draco had experienced a much calmer, well-adjusted pregnancy and birth than he had. He’d been a bit out of sorts getting fat and having to feed Astrid at first but aside from this, he’d taken it all in his stride.

 

In private jealousy, Harry had watched him handle everything a lot better than he had. Harry thought he’d even taken to parenthood a lot quicker than him, without the defensiveness Harry himself had harboured at the start. Now, watching Draco with her, it made a little ache swell in his stomach for some reason and he couldn’t quite figure out why.

 

When at last Amoux came to retrieve Vilkas and Draco took Astrid off to bed, Harry found himself in his own den with a sleepy Kirian sprawled across the middle of his and Fenrir's bed, Teddy in his arms as he waited by the floo for Tonks or Remus. Teddy gripped his hand, staring at the slow burn of the flames thoughtfully. "Mum says I'm like you," he said in a quiet voice.

 

Harry drew in a small breath. No one spoke of it, he hadn't even been aware Teddy knew himself that he carried the recessive gene, dormant just as Harry had been for years until he met Fenrir. Except Teddy’s inheritance seemed to be a side-effect of Remus having been on the wolfsbane potion – a lucky, rare occurrence, Snape had said. They were very lucky Teddy hadn’t directly inherited lycanthropy and infected her from within the womb.

 

Remus and Tonks, though fully integrated now in pack life despite the fact that they lived in the village and held up wizarding jobs, seemed hesitant to discuss it. They considered the situation and the severity of the choice that lay in Teddy's hand too much for him. But the silence seemed only to have made him uneasy. Harry squeezed Teddy's hand.

 

"Did she?" he hedged, just in case. Kids could be so sneaky sometimes.

 

"Dad never lets me come on the full moon. I wanted to. Mum said I could but Dad says no and... Mum says it's 'cause I'm like you." His little face wrinkled and as he spoke, his obscene coloured hair faded into a messy jet black mop that matched Harry's so perfectly it was startling. He looked up at Harry, confused. "I don't understand. Is it bad?”

 

Harry moistened his dry lips and eased down onto his knees to meet those bright amethyst eyes. He'd grown so close to this little boy despite their tentative first meeting. He even looked after him on the days Andromeda just wanted time to herself or had other plans. He and Vilkas and Kirian had formed their own trio reminiscent of him, Ron and Hermione. He didn't want to step on Remus' toes but he also couldn't bear to see the self-deprecating fear in those big eyes. He gripped Teddy's shoulders firmly.

 

"It's not bad, Teddy Bear," he said softly. "You're in a different position to me - you've got your mum and dad to explain this all to you. You should talk to them about it. It's not my place and..." He hesitated. He would have loved to have someone explain his inheritance to him, but that hadn't happened and everything had been so much harder to adjust to. Things should be different for Teddy. "Your Dad just wants you to be able to make the decision when you're older, that's all. It's not like Fenrir or Kirian who were born werewolves, you and Draco and your Mum, you can all choose."

 

Teddy blinked. "Does Dad not want me to be like you and Mum?"

 

Harry shook his head. "It's not that Ted, it's...he just wants you to grow up a bit more, understand the world like a grown up does before you decide. Just to be sure, you know? Kids should worry about important kid stuff for as long as possible."

 

The little boy seemed to think on this for a while, before the fire roared and Remus stepped out, looking tired but content. His eyes were warm as he reached for his son, who leapt readily into his father's arms.

 

"Thank you, Harry," Remus said, supporting his son's weary head against his shoulder. "I'll owe you for Kirian when you and Fenrir want to take some time for yourselves."

 

Even though Harry thought Larentia would have something to say about anyone other than her babysitting Kirian, Harry nodded. "Thanks. He was no trouble. Oh – Remus?" he added quickly before the man could step back into the fire. "He, err...he asked about the recessive gene."

 

Remus froze for a moment, eyes flickering. Teddy wrapped his arms tighter round his father.

 

"I didn't say much, just...I think you need to at least talk to him about it," Harry said quietly. "He's...worried."

 

Slowly, Remus drew his wand and flicked it discreetly in the direction of his son, casting the soft bubbling warmth that Harry recognised as a _Muffliato_. "That conversation is one for the future," he said slowly.

 

"Remus, I won't tell you how to talk to your son about what he is-"

 

"Good," Remus said quickly, but Harry wasn't finished.

 

"-But if you don't he'll hear the wrong information from others. You know what kids are like. He needs to know the truth. He doesn't have to make the decision now but he does need to know. I would have liked to know, growing up, have someone explain it to me."

 

Remus straightened defensively. "What happened to you will not happen to Teddy," he said and though Harry knew he'd made his peace with Harry and Fenrir years ago, as well as his own inner wolf, there was a tension in his voice, one Harry knew lingered from the years of hating the wolf inside himself. "My son will go to Hogwarts and have the life I was always supposed to and when he is grown, then he can decide for himself."

 

"But you can prepare him before all that," Harry tried, but seeing the hardness in Remus' face just sighed. "Just think about it, Remus. I know you're only worried he'll throw himself into this life before he's old enough to realise he can never change it but...he needs to know something."

 

The warmth returned to Remus' face slowly, like a gradually rekindled flame growing in the cold stone darkness. He reached forward and squeezed Harry's shoulder. "Goodnight, Harry. I'll see you for the moon," he said gently, smiling tiredly, before vanishing into the flames.

 

Harry stood there for some time, staring at the dwindling fire and pondering the tinge of concerned sadness in the man's eyes. Remus had grown so much to accept the wolf inside him, took part in the full moon with the pack like one of them, had no problem intermingling and working with them, joined in with the festivities and let Tonks and Teddy do the same. He even was able to hold a normal conversation with Fenrir now and had long since come to respect Harry's relationship with him. Yet still there was that haunted flicker in his eyes sometimes that Harry thought would never fade. Not entirely.

 

"He doesn't hate himself any longer," he told himself softly. "And he's healthier, stronger than he ever would have been without the pack. Happier..."

 

"Living with that self-loathing for so long isn’t something he can get over so easily," came a familiar, husky voice from the doorway. Harry turned to see Fenrir sloping toward him with Kirian leaning against his shoulder, mouth slightly open and eyes closed in deep sleep. Harry cocked his head and gave a small smile at the picture they made. He tilted his head more to welcome the touch when Fenrir's coarse fingers slid across his throat in the way they always did, skirting up into his hair and pulling him forward so that his forehead rested against that stubbly chin.

 

Sighing softly at the relief and calm that swept through him at the touch, Harry closed his eyes. "But it's been five years," he said, but then his insight, his experience was quite different to Remus', he supposed. Even at the beginning, he never loathed his wolf self, only resented the fact that he hadn't been given the chance to choose it for himself. He'd long since made his peace with that. It had been quite different for Remus, growing up estranged from the world, his family, afraid, lonely – suffering those transformations all those years without any support (excepting his marauder years, of course).

 

 "I'm just worried, that's all," he said in the end, discomfited at the way that sounded. Drawing reluctantly back to study his little family though, Harry saw Fenrir watching him with that familiar expression and his own mouth twitched into a reluctant smile.

 

 "I'll set Kirian down," Fenrir said, brushing the back of Harry's neck in that way, so the little hairs prickled up the wrong way, before turning out of the room. 

 

 Sprawled on his stomach in his own bed a few moments later, Ghost's head flopped at the small of his back, Harry set his glasses on the side table and stared sleepily out at the softly lit den through the drawn veil around the bed. It was still drifting slightly from the disturbance he'd caused in the air as he'd dropped onto the bed a few moments before and the gentle light from the columns glistened off the sheer material, hypnotising in his thoughtful half-slumber.

 

 "Did he go down alright?" Harry asked half-legibly as he heard Fenrir's steps, then felt the bed dip as he climbed on. Ghost's tail thwumped against the sheets happily a few times, before he stretched off the bed, most likely to do his usual round of the den before he would return to sleep. Harry moved to turn over, but the pressure of calloused fingers at the small of his back stilled him and he craned his neck to look over his shoulder at Fenrir as the man leant against him, stubbly mouth brushing his neck.

 

 Harry's body tightened and he stretched his neck leisurely to allow more of the almost-kisses, breathing lazily into the pillows.

 

 "Like a light," Fenrir murmured against his ear, voice warm and rough. His entire weight was now covering Harry, holding him lightly to the bed, one forearm bracing himself off it so he didn't crush him while the other hand slid into his fringe, tugging it just enough to pull his head back at the angle he liked best. Harry stretched on the sheets, drawing one knee up against his side so that Fenrir could slide between them and press his hips against his backside.

 

 "Busy day?" Harry asked conversationally, teasing, voice hitched with the hot bliss curling in his stomach, tensing deliciously.

 

 Fenrir huffed, but there was an edge of playful amusement to his voice as he replied roughly in Harry's ear; "Same full moon preparations. We'll have it all done early though so we're not all rushing around and pissing each other off when emotions are running high. Not like last month's disaster." He punctuated his words by dragging his teeth down Harry's nape, biting at a shoulder when he reached it. The hand that had been in Harry's hair now skirted down to his chest, teasing the side of his ribs with feathery touches as he worried the mark at the base of his neck.

 

 "It was worth it," Harry breathed, "everyone had a lovely Christmas." His voice was ragged now, low and husky and he had to close his eyes – just for a moment as his hips jutted forward into the rucked-up sheets, seeking pressure. Fenrir gave an approving growl against his mark, lathing the space with his tongue, grating it with his stubble to draw more blood to the surface, make it more sensitive before circling it with his tongue again. Harry gasped and started the slow, regular rhythm of his hips forward into the sheets and back against the hardness pressing against his buttocks.

 

 "Lovely," Fenrir agreed roughly, not entirely talking about their festive month, palm sliding down Harry's chest to his stomach, where he scraped his nails gently against the slight hair there. "Lovely..." His mouth grated against Harry's shoulder blade and Harry tried to shift both legs under him. The hand at his belly pulled him back flush against Fenrir so he was forced to remain as he was, one leg drawn up, face down on the bed.

 

 Panting roughly into the pillows, Harry reached back with one hand at an awkward angle to drag Fenrir up into a messy kiss. Fenrir complied without moving the rest of his body, riding the undulations of Harry's hips without giving him any other movement. His tongue flicked out to meet Harry's, sweeping against his parted lips and stealing breath before drawing down again, smoothing his mouth against the base of his shoulder.

 

 Things were always like this when the moon approached. They were balanced as equals during the rest of the cycle, both pulling and tugging and demanding as much as the other, compromising. But in these few days each month, they both yearned for the same thing. Harry breathed roughly into the cushions, fingers digging in as the hand at his belly pulled his hips up, Fenrir rising with it so he was kneeling behind him, mouth trekking down to mouth the skin just above where Harry's trousers rode over his tailbone.

 

 The trousers were dragged down to his ankles easily, then kicked off somewhere to be forgotten, leaving his bare skin, burning with need exposed. Taking the opportunity to get both knees under him, Harry rolled his hips forward, the motion drawing that rough palm that few inches downward to where he wanted it. He groaned. At this time of the month, he yearned to lose control and let Fenrir take it, take him, for their animal instincts to surge and let everything else fall away. He relished in it. Reaching down he dragged his blunt nails over Fenrir's wrist and pressed his hand harder into his groin, just as a hot, strong tongue delved down between his cheeks, flickering against his hole.

 

“Uhhh,” Harry groaned throatily, absently grateful for the one-way silencing charm on their bed. “Fuck yes.” He ground back against the firm muscle making maddening circles around his sensitive rim. “Deeper,” he urged. There was a hot chuckle between his cheeks, the grate of stubble and then that tongue breached him, thrusting shallowly, working him open. Fenrir's fingers cupped Harry's cock fully now, stroking him lightly – only just enough to make Harry buck into his grasp.

 

“Let me fill you this moon,” Fenrir murmured, punctuating his words with a wet, delicious roll of his tongue against the tender ring of Harry's opening. Through the haze, Harry still knew what that meant. He let his fingers slide down to link with Fenrir's, helping him stroke faster, gasping when the man's rough thumb swept over his slit, tugged down at the little line of flesh below. Harry's only answer was a throaty cry.

 

When Fenrir lifted his head, he knelt up so he was draped over Harry's back, nose pressed against the soft hair at his neck, fingers leaving Harry's cock to pry him open. Harry squirmed back, welcoming two of them, slick with his own pre-emission inside.   They twisted perfectly right away, crooking to drag against the place that made pleasure pool in his belly. Yes. Harry closed his eyes and stroked his erection more firmly himself now.

 

“There we go, pet,” Fenrir practically purred against his ear, and Harry growled in annoyance at the term – annoyance he didn't really feel. A third finger slid in easily and Harry just relaxed into it, spreading his legs wider, waiting. Fenrir had so little patience this close to the full moon, it wouldn't be long. He was aching inside, empty, waiting.

 

“You're always so soft down here,” Fenrir teased, “ready.” When he drew his fingers back, Harry felt bereft, his walls clenching down on nothing, slick and waiting. He heard a low sound emanate from Fenrir's throat and could guess what he looked like – open, hungry and pink. Harry gasped in surprise when he felt Fenrir's thumb slide in, circling his entrance and cupping his firm balls with the fingers of the same hand.

 

“Fuck me,” Harry growled impatiently, the wolf in him surfacing, pacing, needy.

 

“Is that a yes?” Fenrir asked huskily, worrying the back of Harry's neck with his teeth as he shifted on his knees behind him, like an animal eager to rut, like the wolf he was. The smell of testosterone, sweat and arousal seeped through Harry's senses and it took him a moment to remember himself. He stroked his cock faster, crying out in frustration, shifting back to the thumb working him further open, the hand massaging his balls so perfectly, until he thought he might burst before Fenrir was even inside him.

 

“No,” Harry whispered, “I'm not ready yet. Hurry up.” Words he'd whispered so often.

 

Fenrir made a rumbling sound in his throat and let go of him, the emptiness his thumb left filled with thick hardness, one long, slow slide that made Harry shift on his knees with the fullness of it. So heavy and right inside. He stopped stroking, determined to prolong the moment and reached down to pull his full bollocks up against the base of his cock, just enough so that the pull made his orgasm recede. Fenrir's hand splayed on his chest, holding him close as he rolled onto his side, so that they were spooned together.

 

“Mmmm,” Harry sighed, lifting one leg up, resting his head on Fenrir's bicep as the hand not gripping his chest carded through his sweaty fringe. “Like it like this. Slow and deep.” From this angle he could just catch Fenrir's face in his peripheral vision, see the warm glow in his eyes and feel that mouth on his neck. The man was all soft growls now, animal-like sniffing at the corner of his jaw. Simple, perfect. Harry gripped the hand on his chest for a moment and rode the slow rolls of the man's hips, relished in the aching delicious heat filling him, ghosting over the place that made his neglected cock leak.

 

They'd enjoyed each other so many different ways over the years but sometimes the slow pull and push like this, locked together was what they both needed. It wasn't frenzied or desperate but understanding, need expressed in slow caresses and raspy breath, still making ferocious heat tug at every pore until it tingled in anticipation. Harry licked his dry lips and turned his head to catch Fenrir's lips as they danced across his jaw, mouths languidly gliding together with the flicker of tongue, fingers brushing his scarred forehead.

 

“Please,” Fenrir asked and it was with the soft tone against his lips that Harry knew took a lot for him to offer. He gripped Fenrir's hand on his chest firmly and kissed him back firmly.

 

“I can't,” he protested softly and when their eyes met there was disappointment in those blue eyes. It was quickly snuffed out by desire as Fenrir used the fingers on his brow to steady him, sealing their mouths more forcefully this time. The thrusts picked up and Harry cried out, edging slightly forward so he could open himself more fully. He tried to turn his head into Fenrir's arm but the grip on his hair and the mouth on his would not release him. He could only cry out into those parted lips as he was fucked, firm, perfect.

 

Fenrir rolled on top of him and Harry pushed up with his hips, bracing his forearms now as that cock slid in and out, raw and wet, his own cocked trapped between his belly and the sheets. Nails dug into Harry's hips, the other hand splayed by his head, bearing the brunt of Fenrir's weight. Fenrir slammed into him, relentless now and hungry, perhaps a little embarrassed by the refusal. The sounds of their bodies meeting filled Harry's ears and he growled, all animal as he fucked back, giving as good as he got.

 

“That's it,” Fenrir ground out, so deep inside now that Harry felt the breath chased from his lungs with each jerk inside. “Give it to me. Show me.”

_Show me you still want me,_ Harry thought he meant. He pressed his forehead into one of his arms and whined deep in his throat, an inhuman sound and reached back to scratch at Fenrir's hips, trying to draw him deeper. A mixture of Fenrir's wounded pride and his fiery, assertive arousal crackled in the air like electricity and Harry knew his submission would satisfy both, just as well, because he was aching for it.

 

Even though his cock was throbbing, leaking against the sheets, he did not reach down, he pushed back, arching his back and twisting his hips so he could grind his prostate back against the head of that thick cock. He felt a sticky rush of pre-emission and wondered if he could milk himself dry before he'd even come. He wouldn't have that long to find out.

 

“Right there?” Fenrir asked roughly, though he must've known by the smell of Harry's pre-emission and the way Harry's hips were shaking with spasms, his body alight with uncontrollable shivers. “Right there, pet,” he said again, no question this time, grinding into that place, almost without withdrawing at all, “Going to come for me just like this? Just from me?”

 

“Yes,” Harry panted harshly, cheeks burning as he felt Fenrir spread his cheeks wide so he could watch the way he stretched around him. “So full,” he breathed. Fenrir's pride swelled until it was all Harry could smell.

 

“You look it. Like you might burst.”

 

“No. Harder.” He might burst if Fenrir stopped. His cock pulsed and he so wanted to touch but he knew how worth it it'd be if he waited. In an effort to stop himself, in a move he knew Fenrir would understand, he slid both arms behind his back and hissed in relief as Fenrir grasped them both, stopping him from unwittingly spoiling it. Harry snarled in bliss, circling his hips and pressing down hard into his knees to root himself in place as Fenrir fucked him right there, just perfect. His prostate was swollen and his cock so hard it hurt, drooling a steady stream against the sheets, so close to orgasm that every touch to the sheet made the slit tingle.

 

“Oh _fuck,_ ” Harry gasped, the sound torn between a growl and dry sob. These kinds of orgasms made his emotions spiral, his instincts cry out with need and his body jerk out of his control as if he were dancing on the end of the torture curse. So overwhelming and raw that it shook him almost out of his body. “Oh please. Oh fuck. Oh...” He bit down, grinding his teeth together as his words leapt out of his control. He surrendered only low, muffled snarls as the spasms took hold.

 

“Mine,” Fenrir growled, his voice sharp and ragged, betraying the oncoming of his own explosion, driven wildly close by Harry's tightening insides, by the ferocity of the moment locking them together.

 

“Fenrir,” Harry hissed through clenched teeth. He tried to yank his hands free despite not really wanting to, _needing_ to touch his aching erection that he was sure was on fire now. The slit was so hot and his insides knotted so tightly with each thrust against _that spot_ that he felt his eyes sting. “Fuck. My cock – my cock is burning. My-” He lost control of his tongue first, then his body, which was only held in place by the pressure of Fenrir's body against his arms and back and arse. “So full. My arse. Fuck me, _fuck me_...!”

 

Something burst in his stomach first and then ripped outward in sharp, overwhelming waves that yanked his breath clear out of him. He did give a dry sob then, pinned to the bed as he came hard against the sheets, Fenrir still fucking him through it. Fenrir was pressed tight to his back now, trapping his arms there so one hand could pull Harry's head to the side enough for him to steal his lips, to swallow every embarrassing sound he couldn't control. The other slid under his belly, smearing the sticky mess of Harry's come against his chest, his stomach, cock, balls, everywhere, as if Fenrir too was unable to control the instinct.

 

Fenrir snarled against his kiss-swollen lips and slammed into him a final time, come-slick hand stroking the last of Harry's release from his burning cock as something stretched Harry's entrance to near-breaking point. Harry jerked in surprise, his orgasm still rippling tiny shivers through him, as he registered what _had_ to be, what _could not be_ happening.

 

“F-Fenrir?” Harry breathed raggedly, voice hoarse and nearly lost to his erratic breathing. Fenrir's face – what he could see of it was still human though and the cock inside him definitely was, just...

 

“Fuck,” Fenrir growled, voice thick. Sensations jolted through Harry as he was stretched impossibly wide, the overwhelming tidal wave of emotion and instinct pooling in his brain and making everything fuzzy. He groaned softly, trying to steal another kiss but Fenrir merely pressed his forehead to the side of Harry's head, gently refusing, pinning him at the same time as he panted.

 

Harry felt the undeniable throbbing inside, followed by a fluid sensation and he squirmed but instincts kept him still as the last of his spasms ebbed from his body. He lay boneless and sated, eyes treacherously damp but so blissfully calm that he felt as if he were floating outside his body. It was as if everything had been wiped clean and now he could start again. He closed his eyes. He'd only come like that a few times in the years they'd been together and it wiped him out every time. He felt like he could sleep for years and awake to a new age.

 

 _This_ had never happened before though. “Are you knotted inside me?” he asked, cursing the light, unsteadiness to his voice. He still felt dazed, as if seeing things from outside his body. Forehead pressed against the side of Harry's head still, Fenrir nodded, not moving otherwise. He was tense, still coming inside and Harry winced as his insides cramped a little at the flow. “What does that mean?” Harry asked.

 

There was a long moment, during which Harry gasped as the cramps clenched at his abdomen. He shifted and Fenrir grunted, sliding a hand over his sticky stomach until it eased. The flow seemed to stop. “I have the wolf's teeth,” Fenrir said thickly, voice so quiet and rough it sounded like an animalistic whisper, “and...claws.”

 

Harry tensed but then winced at the ache in his arse when he did so. That explained why Fenrir hadn't kissed him again then, he'd been afraid of catching him with his 'fangs'. “This has never happened before,” was all Harry's distant, muggy brain could manage. He felt Fenrir huff against his cheek and wondered if their instincts were overcoming them while they were locked together like this and that's why words felt sticky and wrong in his mouth.

 

The only indication of how much time passed was that Harry's legs began to ache. When he tried to shift. Fenrir gave a grunt and rolled them back into their original position, with him pressed up against Harry's back. Harry startled at the sight of those claws on the hand resting over his. Slowly, he stroked the pad of his finger over one of them. The feel of smooth hard nail dragged him back a little from his daze. Uncertainty at what was happening lapped at his mind.

 

“Why is this happening?” he asked, still too weak-limbed and sated for the panic to surface fully. Instincts hummed pleasurably beneath his skin. Just right.

 

“You riled me up,” Fenrir scoffed against his neck, nestling his nose just above his pulse as he rocked his hips slightly, testing. Harry hissed and stiffened and Fenrir froze. “A while longer yet,” the man surmised, relaxing as best he could against Harry's back.

 

“I've never riled you up before?” Harry asked cautiously.

 

Fenrir was silent for a moment, uncertainty rolling off him in obvious waves. Harry could taste it. He wished he could turn and look into the man's eyes but the tight stretch against his tender hole assured him to try would be a bad idea. He stared at the glistening veil of the curtain around their bed and waited, letting his fingers trace the elongated claws absently. He knew this man well enough now to know when to push and when to be patient.

“It's just nature's way of helping,” Fenrir said at last, voice evasive.

 

Hesitating for a moment, Harry swallowed. “Helping you to get me...” He winced. He still couldn't say it. How could he _do_ it if he couldn't _say_ it? Even after all this time. Draco had been a bit awkward but not as bad as...oversensitive as Harry. He still gave Harry a thump when he even teasingly _feminised_ him but aside from that, he'd been a lot more comfortable about the 'pregnancy' thing. He even seemed to privately relish it. Harry envied him that.

 

“Why now?” Harry persisted quietly. “We'll have been together six years in a few months. Why now?” The arms around him tightened in answer and the claws beneath his fingers receded – probably the fangs too. The tightness in his backside was easing. It left him feeling tender and empty when Fenrir pulled out, sliding back to sit up with crossed legs, dragging his hand through his hair in a gesture he'd gotten from Harry over the years. He was carefully avoiding his eyes.

 

Wincing as he rolled to face Fenrir, still laying down, Harry cast a hasty cleaning charm with a flick of his wrist and stretched his legs out uncertainly. His arse felt loose and abused. He'd be feeling that tomorrow.

 

“Because I want it so bloody bad, alright?” Fenrir snapped gruffly, glaring at him then, as if daring him to say something.

 

Harry frowned. Fenrir had been talking a lot about children lately, especially since Astrid had come along. Obviously Harry's tactic of ‘ignore it and hope it goes away’ had proven a failure. _Idiot,_ he berated himself, pushing himself up onto his elbows and dragging the thick blanket over him to fend the chill away from his damp skin. “It's not that I _don't_ want another one,” Harry began, trying not to sound defensive. “I just...it was hard, alright? With Kirian. I felt...” He bit at the inside of his mouth and floundered for words like a fish on dry land. “I've just found myself again,” he said softly. “I don't want to lose that.”

 

Fenrir stared at him for a long, fragile moment, rigid in posture, torn between pride and reacting to Harry's admission. At last, the hot defiance in his ice-blue eyes simmered out and his expression softened. He crawled forward on the bed, until he was laying on his side facing Harry, dragging his thick fingers through Harry's sweaty locks in an affectionately hopeless attempt at taming them.

 

“When you carried Kirian things could not have been a worse situation,” Fenrir said gruffly. “It was war, Harry, wizards and werewolves were trying to kill us and you hadn't had time to find yourself, to accept what you were or me or any of it.”

 

Harry winced. It'd never been spoken but it was true. He'd thought perhaps to voice that obvious truth would be a blow to his love for Kirian, but that just wasn't true. He ached. “I love our son,” he said in quiet, raspy counter.

“So do I,” Fenrir replied, staring straight into his eyes. “But it doesn't change that the situation then was shit. This is... We're comfortable. We won't be at each other's throats because we're afraid or uncertain. It'll be different this time. We can enjoy it like we should have been able to the first time.”

 

Harry sighed, closing his eyes. He'd thought it would be hard to remember how he'd felt all that time ago – but it was so painfully clear in his mind that it shook him. “I didn't know what the hell I was doing when I had Kirian,” he murmured. “I just remember being scared shitless. And I know Draco had a bloody breeze of a time but I'm not Draco.” He loathed the wavering tone to his voice and was grateful his eyes were closed so at least what little _wasn't_ betrayed by their bond could remain hidden behind his lashes.

 

Suddenly bristly lips were pressed to his, coaxing the aching self-deprecation from his limbs until he was a limp, sated mess again. Harry sighed, eyes flickering open.

 

“There you are,” Fenrir murmured, voice rough and Harry couldn't help but give a soft breath of laughter.

 

“Sorry,” he replied, abashed. “You know it's sort of...emotional, coming like that. Makes me all rough around the edges.”

 

Fenrir's mouth set but his eyes glittered. “If you really don't want to this time,” he said, “or any time, I'm not gonna push you. But if you _do_ and you're just afraid...” He waited and Harry lifted his chin a little, wanting to demand that he wasn't afraid, but he couldn't quite find the lie. Fenrir lifted his eyebrows knowingly. “Do you really not want to?”

 

Harry's lips part in answer, but before he can give voice to his words, a familiar patter of bare feet and paws sounded on the stone just beyond their room. Harry swore and cast another cleaning charm on himself, Fenrir and the bed. He pushed up just in time to see Kirian parting the curtains around their bed, Ghost behind him, tail wagging sleepily.

 

“Daddy,” Kirian whimpered, rubbing at his eyes, blanket tucked under one arm and dummy in the corner of his mouth.

 

Harry smiled. He’d thought Kirian's determination to give up his dummy in the daytime had faltered in the evening, but he didn't have the heart to push him. It was just at bed time he snuck it back into his mouth after all and he'd been so grown up wanting to get rid of it himself. He was still so young. “What's the matter Kiri?” he asked, but he already knew the answer. The emotions, the instincts all buzzing around the pack and within Kirian's own young body just before the moon often made it hard for him to settle. He wasn't afraid, just uneasy.

 

“C'mere,” Fenrir said in his usual gruff voice, curling under the sheets beside Harry and holding them up in clear invitation. Kirian beamed around his dummy and clambered up onto the furs, diving between them and curling in the nook between their bodies, head on Fenrir's arm. Ghost spooned against Harry's side and Harry gave Fenrir a wry smile before resting his head on the cushions, sighing as he relaxed in the warmth of his family.

 

“Alpha always makes it quiet,” Kirian mumbled contently, eyes already closed. Harry's flicked up to Fenrir.

 

“Yeah,” he agreed softly, carding fingers through Kirians dark auburn hair. “He does.”

 

Fenrir grunted, mimicking the motion of Harry's fingers through his Harry’s own hair, then Kirian, before closing his own eyes. It was his version of _I love you,_ and it made warmth pool in Harry's chest.

 

*                                    *                                    *

 

As promised, the night before the full moon night, Harry accompanied Draco, Echo and baby Astrid to the next in many attempts of making peace between the pack and Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Well – Lucius Malfoy in all truthfulness, as Narcissa had been won over the moment baby Astrid had been passed into her arms. Harry slid his hands into his pockets as he walked up the long path to Malfoy Manor, Draco beside him. Astrid whined unhappily from her place in Echo's arms. Echo rubbed her back, pulling his coat round her to shield her from the unforgiving January evening chill.

 

“Sssh, Poppet,” he murmured, cradling her close. “I know your granddad is scary–”

 

“You are not helping,” Draco muttered sharply, “if you could go just a few hours without antagonising him...”

 

Harry thought to call Echo, one of the most laid back and amiable people he'd ever met _antagonising_ in comparison to Lucius Malfoy was a bit rich, but he said nothing. _Supportive,_ he told himself for the hundredth time that night, _be supportive. That's what you're here for. Support, distract and buffer..._

 

Looking up at the stars as they walked, Harry wondered how this latest attempt to gain Lucius Malfoy's approval would go. Both of Draco's parents had found his 'choice' and 'lifestyle' hard to take. They'd spent the better part of three years trying to convince Draco he was making a mistake and when Draco had finally undergone the ritual to become like him, Harry, they hadn't spoken for a long time. Harry inclined his head to watch Draco unable to hide a smile as Astrid wrapped her chubby arms round Echo's neck and sneezed directly into his neck. Astrid had built a bridge for the Malfoy family but Lucius was still resistant. It was sure to be a long night, made even longer by the sheer wrongness he felt being away from Fenrir so close to the full moon.

 

“Fenrir wants to have another baby,” he said, before he could stop himself. Draco's head whipped round so quickly Harry swore he heard his neck creak. Echo, however just smiled. Apparently he seemed to know already, but then, he was Fenrir's best friend. Harry felt his cheeks burn and he focussed on Astrid's sweet face as Echo wiped her nose and then his neck with a grimace. Astrid beamed up at him, her little face so like Echo's but topped with Draco's shock of platinum hair. Harry didn't think he'd ever seen a more beautiful little girl. She was a happy, content little baby, so easily settled, unlike the needy baby Kirian had been. Still was at times. She had that smell about her still and Harry wondered, as he saw the way she fitted onto Echo's hip, if he really did want to fight having that again or not. He just didn't know.

 

“Are we to take it that you do not?” Draco drawled, one eyebrow lifted. “I always assumed you'd want a burrow full of brats like the Weasleys, with you being an orphan after all...”

 

“So tactful,” Echo intoned lightly, giving Harry an apologetic smile before turning it into fondness for Draco. “Say it how it is, why don't you?”

 

Draco snorted. “Potter and I don't mix words with each other, it's what makes us such perfect chums,” he said dryly. Even though they were in fact, quite close friends nowadays. You couldn't spend as much time together as they did without being so.

 

Harry sighed, looking at the ominous image of the Manor ahead. It was still carved from dark stone and mortar, but now warm lights glowed in the windows and the gardens were filled with beautiful flowers, some night-blooms to welcome them in along the path. He shivered, unable to forget the time he'd been dragged here and tortured. He zipped his jumper up higher around his neck at the shiver that pulsed through his limbs. He swore he could feel the bite of the wire around his throat, even now, hear Voldemort's icy mocking whisper and then Fenrir's gruff tone, cutting through the hissing and beginning everything.

 

“I don't know what I want,” he said at last. “I always wanted a big family, yeah but...that was before I realised I'd be the one having them. Before all that happened. Before Kirian... _happened._ ”

 

“You bloody hyprocrite, Potter. So you were fine imagining your hypothetical future wife having dozens of squalling brats but when you realise it's _you_ that will have them you run for the hills?” Draco snapped. “Since when has being afraid ever stopped Harry Potter from doing what he wants to do?”

 

Harry glared. “Don't be a pillock,” he hissed. “And you shouldn't swear in front of Astrid. She's like a little sponge.”

 

Draco scoffed. “Only my _grandmother_ would consider 'bloody' a swear word,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “In any case, my daughter will be a lady whatever she hears, won't you, darling?”

 

Astrid babbled nonsensically, chewing on her fist.

 

“Anyway,” Harry said, “It's not that I'm afraid exactly. I just...I remember that feeling, not knowing myself, feeling emasculated and I don't...” He saw the teasing banter ebb from Draco's face then and suddenly felt self-conscious, staring ahead at the Manor. It was drawing closer and then he could pretend he'd never said a word on the subject. There never was a sink-hole to suck you up when you needed one most.

 

“It's not great,” Draco replied, uncertainly. “I saw you suffer it and I still didn't realise how... _difficult_ it would be. You do feel feminised somewhat, it's unavoidable but Potter, who is there to judge you but yourself? Our pack, everyone we are surrounded by, they don't think like that, only wizards do. Those feelings are ones that we bring on ourselves, not what others make us feel.” He glanced to Astrid for strength, apparently just as embarrassed by this conversation as Harry was. That was always a comfort, that Draco was still as awkward and clumsy with emotion as him.

 

 _Merlin help Kirian and Astrid,_ Harry thought, waiting for Draco to continue.

 

“But there were good parts, really good parts,” Draco said so softly that Harry nearly didn't hear him. “And she's perfect.” There was a long silence then, during which Echo's eyes glowed with pride and he rested his chin on his little girl's head. When Draco met Harry's gaze again, the emotion was gone as quick as it'd come and his expression was that of the challenging, amused school boy once again. “I may even truly scandalise Father; break with tradition even further and have another someday.”

 

Harry couldn't help but laugh and the sound and lightness stayed with him all the way up to the front steps. An elf appeared, bowing low and leading them into the house. The hallway was familiar and yet so different to how Harry remembered. Instead of the musky, dank scent it'd carried the first time, now it was full of the aroma of flowers, no doubt the silver lilies that glowed beautifully all around them. He couldn't help but stare as they passed them. The stems looked like they carried gold dust and shimmered stunningly, obviously magical.

 

The darkness that had clung to every corner had been banished with warm light, yet despite all this, Harry was grateful the elf didn't lead them into the drawing room. He wasn't sure he could face the room he'd been tortured in, his pain and weakness displayed for all to see. Draco must've felt the same, for he kept his eyes firmly on the elf in front of them. His family home held many dark memories. It probably didn't help to ease the mood that settled whenever Draco came here in an attempt to spend time with his parents.

 

They were lead into a comfortable dining room, large but not outrageously so. Harry thought that this couldn't have been the main dining room, it wasn't nearly as grand as he was sure the Malfoy's would prefer, even in spite of the opulent golds and creams of the decor and appointments. Perhaps the original dining room was another of the rooms in this place that had memories the family would rather not face. Harry smiled tightly, politely at Mr and Mrs Malfoy as the elf vanished, the two of them rising from their seats at the table like marionettes.

 

"Good evening Draco," Lucius said in that same familiar drawl, leaning heavily on his cane – plain ebony, not the one he'd once carried, Harry noted.

 

"Evening Father, Mother," Draco greeted, his mask of fragile indifference slipping into one of warmth as his mother approached them, touching her son's face with a graceful smile of her own before reaching for her granddaughter. "Thank you for coming Draco, Mr Bayard, Mr Potter," she said, eyes completely focused on her granddaughter as the little girl squealed delightedly, curling chubby fingers around a lock of Narcissa's hair. "How is my little princess, hmm?"

 

Astrid babbled back at her and Harry couldn't help but beam.

 

"You mustn't call Echo Mr Bayard, Mother," Draco winced. "We're as good as married, it sounds odd. Formal."

 

"As married as werewolves get, I should think, Draco," Lucius intoned as they took their seats at the table, Narcissa at her husband's right, Astrid still wrapped in her arms, Draco at Lucius' left, with Echo beside him and Harry beside Narcissa.

 

"Werewolves consider mating our version of marriage, more permanent in fact as we're bound for life by blood," Echo explained politely, nodding at the elf who had appeared to fill their goblets. The mention of the permanence of his bond to Draco made Lucius twitch, Harry thought and he hastened to turn his eyes to Astrid, who was staring up at Narcissa with adoring wonder.

 

"Indeed," Lucius replied stiffly. "But Draco is still a wizard as well, is he not? I would have thought you might honour his heritage as well as your own..."

 

Draco put his hand over his goblet to stop the elf from pouring wine into it, eyes riveted to his father. "It isn't important to us, Father. We're 'married' in all the way that matters, all except a scrap of parchment filed away in the Ministry. It doesn't make a difference to us. I shouldn't think it would make any difference to what the people that _matter_ think of us." Draco stared daringly at his father, before sipping at his water.

 

"Some people have names for children born out of wedlock," Lucius said tartly.

 

Echo sat up straighter, gaze flicking quickly to Draco, who had gone white, lips held in a tight line. Narcissa grasped her husband's arm warningly.

 

"Let them try," Harry challenged without thinking, jaw set. Lucius stared at him, the way he had that day when they'd first laid eyes on each other in Diagon Alley. "There are a lot of meaningless names thrown about that say more about the one using it than the one it's aimed at," Harry added, remembering Lucius' disdain for 'mudbloods' and the views he'd tried to instill in his only son, views that thankfully he had broken free of after a time. He didn’t know how this man could have any arrogance or disdain for others when he was the worst kind of criminal, a backstabbing coward, only kept out of Azkaban because of what Harry and Severus had done for Draco. "I think some people have forfeited their right to cast aspersions on others."

 

"I should think you'd be grateful that I have stayed out of wedlock and remained Draco Malfoy,” Draco said coolly, “that Astrid is a Malfoy."

 

"It was terribly good of you to accept Malfoy as Astrid's surname," Narcissa said peaceably to Echo, who smiled warmly.

 

"Bayard is her middle name and anyway names don't really matter to me," he replied. "Malfoy means something to Draco and his family. Just made sense. It doesn't make her any less my daughter. If it makes everyone happy..." He trailed off and Lucius gave a small sound of derision but at last tucked into his starter, which meant that the rest of them could too. The food was delicious, a welcome distraction. Harry longed to keep his eyes on his plate and say nothing, but he knew that was not what he'd been invited for. He was here as a diversion, as back up.

 

When the elf pushed an elegantly carved wooden high chair up to the table between Harry and Narcissa, he helped her to slide Astrid in and felt some of the tension leave the table when the little girl gave a milky burp, to which Lucius replied gently, "Pardon." For just that moment, Harry glanced up and thought he saw the father Lucius Malfoy had once been. Just briefly, before the mask of the fallen aristocrat fell back into place.

 

"She has grown so much in the last few weeks, Draco," Narcissa said, dipping the rusk the elf supplied for Astrid into her soup before handing it to the baby, who sucked at it messily.

 

"Like a weed," Draco said proudly. "She's trying to crawl more and more now..." The conversation that followed was easy and light, one that even Lucius managed to take part in without any malice. Apparently he adored Astrid just as much (if not as openly) as Narcissa and Echo had been right when he'd told Harry that she'd made Lucius and Narcissa's acceptance of Draco's new life a little easier.

_Who could hate something that created someone so beautiful_ , he thought, even if, at that moment Astrid decided to reach out and get his attention by batting his cheek with a soggy rusk-covered hand. Harry wiped his face with his napkin and smirked. She was wonderful. The sight of her, the bliss she brought and the sound of her delighted belly laugh as she reached for him again, only to have her wrist caught by Narcissa's eloquent fingers and wiped clean with a napkin – it all inspired warmth. Narcissa's lips twisted in a wry smile. She looked just as desperate for distraction as he did.

 

They managed to make it through until dessert with just amiable conversation. Echo had even received a normal response from Lucius when he'd enquired conversationally about his latest foray into raising his own new breed of silver lillies. It was hard to think of Lucius Malfoy of all people getting their hands dirty with manual work, but then, under house arrest for the foreseeable future with no wand, Harry supposed there were few things he could do with his time.

 

"She's remarkably well-adjusted for an only child," Narcissa said affectionately, staring once again at her granddaughter. "You were a perfect horror, Draco." Her son scowled at this while Harry and Echo smirked into their dessert.

 

"Kirian's a good boy too," Harry said lightly in Draco's defence, seeing Lucius Malfoy twitch at the mention of his son for some reason. He ignored it. "They live and play everyday with the other pack children, I don't think it's like they are only children, they may as well have half a dozen siblings."

 

"Yes," Lucius intoned, "How are the Weasleys these days?"

 

Harry bristled but the slight widening of Draco's eyes made him bite his tongue, just. "Arthur Weasley is undersecretary to Minister Shacklebolt now, didn't you know?" he said lightly, knowing that that truth, the fact that Lucius must know that was better than a slap in the face. "Ron and Hermione are engaged now – Ron is coming to the end of Auror Training, Hermione just got her own office in Interspecies Communications-"

 

"And what of you, Potter?" Lucius interrupted. "What of your career path? Do you have one in mind? It must be peculiar, with your little friends so successful and you playing house." Lucius gave a small would-be sympathetic smile. "You must have some plan. You can't be content to be a werewolf's housewife like my son."

 

Anger trickled down Harry's throat like acid. His organs clenched and his fingers tightened around his dessert fork. His lips parted furiously with a response but Draco got there first.

 

“Enough,” he said darkly, voice low, warning, with the same familiar drawl he'd inherited from his father. “That's enough, Father. Are my family and I welcome in this house or not?” He stared hard at his father, but when the man's face pinched indecisively, Draco glanced to his mother for a moment, before demanding an answer from Lucius with his eyes. Harry watched stunned. Why had Draco invited him tonight? He didn't get it.

 

“You know you are,” Lucius said in a sharp voice that still sneered slightly, insinuating with the tone that Draco was an idiot for suggesting such a mawkish thing.

At this the tension seemed to leave Draco's body. Like Harry, he'd probably assumed Lucius' pride would not permit him to admit it, even in such a derisive manner. Now Harry watched as Draco sighed, weary of it all.

 

“Then for Merlin's sake,” Draco began, “Enough, or Mother will come and visit us and I won't darken your doorstep again.”

 

Lucius' irises flared fractionally, his hand tightening around the stem of his goblet. He was afraid, unwittingly betraying just a slither of it, but it was enough. “You mean to _blackmail_ me into behaving like an infant?” he whispered harshly.

 

Draco levelled a gaze at him. “I mean to not put myself, my daughter or my partner through anymore of your ridiculous little displays. I grow bored, Father. If you do not want me or Astrid as we are now, with all our _werewolf_ attachments then tell me so now, because nothing is going to change.”

 

Harry didn't think he'd ever heard Draco speak like that to his father, ever. He'd only ever witnessed him regard him with respect and no little fear, desperation for approval. So much had changed, the war, Astrid and Echo had changed him. This was the kind of hurt defiance he'd shown that night in the bathroom, that day when he'd helped Harry escape the invasion of the den so he could safely have Kirian. The same kind of stubbornness _he_ had always witnessed personally in Draco Malfoy, set loose.

 

Lucius seemed as stunned by it as Harry, gazing mutely at his son for a moment, gripping his goblet so tightly Harry feared it may break. Until, at last, he raised it to his lips. He said nothing but there was a small flicker in his eyes for Draco only and his son offered a minute nod, before drinking deeply from his own goblet of water.

 

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Narcissa said brightly, as if the entire exchange hadn't just happened. In reality, it'd cleared the choking atmosphere almost completely. Harry actually enjoyed his second helping of pudding and Draco even taunted him about it under his breath.

 

“I finished Astrid's playroom for when you visit,” Narcissa continued, “shall we take a look?” They all stood agreeably, before she could reach for her granddaughter, however, Lucius had already come to stand behind the highchair and scooped the baby girl up into one arm. Harry wondered how rare an occurrence this was, for even Echo seemed surprised by it. Astrid herself blinked up at Lucius a few times, before seizing a lock of hair in her fist. Harry flinched. Lucius raised a delicate eyebrow and merely retrieved the strand, before looking to his wife.

 

“Lead the way, Narcissa,” he said simply.

 

“Why did you ask me to come?” Harry asked as he and Draco lagged behind the small group that followed Narcissa out of the dining room, down the hall and across the large foyer. Draco frowned at his hushed voice but shrugged, eyes fixed on his parents who walked in front, Astrid babbling eagerly and finding great interest in creasing Lucius' cravat.

 

“Not enjoying yourself, Harry?” Draco mused.

 

Harry scoffed. “Don't be a tit. Why tonight? Why me? You stood up to him in there, you seem to have made him listen. Why did you need me to do that?”

 

The smallest hint of colour touched Draco's face. He cleared his throat uncertainly. “It's always you pushing me, Potter, it always has been,” Draco said sharply, quietly. Though Harry knew Echo would be able to hear their whispered conversation, it didn't really matter. Draco was speaking again. “I knew if you were sitting right there looking at me, poised to pipe up in my honour or Echo's or your own that I'd...well, I'd have to _finally_ do something. You leak defiance and obstinacy like a bad odour.”

 

Harry blinked. “Did you just imply that I smell?” He demanded.

 

“Do concentrate, Harry,” Draco said impatiently. They were nearing a door made of pristine oak, gleaming silver/white. “You push me. Just knowing that you're expecting me to stand up for what I believe in rather than sit there like a pathetic child afraid of disappointing his Death Eater father.”

 

“You stood invited me along because you thought I'd think you were pathetic for letting your Dad make you feel like shit? Because you knew you wouldn't let your pride be damaged by me thinking you were pathetic?” Harry asked, confusing hmself. His insides were starting to clench uneasily. He hated being away from Fenrir and Kirian this close to the moon. It just didn’t feel right.

 

His life was filled with excursions beyond the life he shared with Fenrir. Over the years he'd even managed to try and teach himself some restraint when it came to his over protectiveness of Kirian too (arguably not enough, but some). There was just something about the instincts the moon awoke that just made him want to be as close to them as possible though.

 

“Weren’t you worried Echo thought you were pathetic?” Harry asked softly.

 

Draco smiled. “He’s seen the worst of me already and he hasn't thought badly of me.”

“And I haven’t seen the worst of you?” Harry challenged wryly.

 

“Ah, yes, but he adores me in spite of it,” Draco mused, genuinely smiling now as his mother pushed open the door to the grand playroom and led Echo and Lucius inside.

 

“I like you well enough in spite of it,” Harry said.

 

“Goodness, don't let's open _that_ pathway so close to the moon, Potter. We have reached the quota on 'feelings' this evening,” Draco drawled, still smiling as the followed the others into the lavish playrooom. “You know how the instincts play up the emotions.”

 

Harry smirked and looked over just in time to see Lucius setting Astrid down in front of the most beautiful rocking horse (unicorn, actually) he'd ever seen. The sight of Astrid's little fingers reaching to snag in its stunning silvery tail that trailed on the carpet next to her made something in his throat catch and he knew Draco had noticed. The observant shit.

 

“It's quite alright to be afraid of something and want it at the same time you know,” Draco murmured, watching him sideways without turning his head in his direction. Harry froze. Draco continued, “I was a right shit about becoming one of you, if you remember – a brat almost-”

 

“ _Almost_?” Harry repeated. “I think you literally stamped your foot-”

 

“In any case, after getting my NEWTs, seeing the world all while allowing Echo to… _court_ me for years, I wanted nothing more than to finally be with him properly – the way you are with Greyback. Astrid, I wanted her to but that didn't mean I wasn't _pissing_ myself at the thought of it all at the same time,” Draco said roughly, “the things you want most are often the most overwhelming. Have you still not figured that out yet?”  


Harry said nothing for a long time.

_To Be Continued…_

 


	2. Owl Post in The Valley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so overwhelmed by the response I've had for this sequel. Thank you everyone for your kind words and kudos. I've been working on this so long that I was all worked up about disappointing you. Hope you continue to enjoy! :)
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> **Warning for some werewolf/human *cough* interaction here. I'm not sure how some of you respond to that so be warned.**

Owl Post in The Valley

Chapter Two

Owls were a common sight in The Valley nowadays. They brought the Daily Prophet to Draco and Harry every morning, as well as regular post from the Weasleys, Malfoys and even Snape and McGonagall. The morning of the full moon day, however, the Hogwarts’ owl did not carry the usual grumblings of Professor Snape or even McGonagall's light tittering. The tawny owl hooted balefully as it soared straight over Harry, missing Draco as well and instead squatting in front of Vilkas.

 

Everything in the breakfast circle went still. Vilkas blinked, shocked and uncertain as he stared at the owl that offered him its leg. “I think it's lost,” Vilkas said, confused when the owl hopped toward him on one leg and hooted again impatiently.

 

“I don't think it is, sweetheart,” Amoux said softly, grasping his shoulder with one hand and offering the owl some of the treats Harry and Draco kept nearby at breakfast for their post. Vilkas’ face was white as he at last, under his adopted mother's coaxing, reached for the letter with trembling hands. Slowly he pulled open the familiar seal and read aloud, but Harry knew what it said before he began.

 

_“Dear Mr Longstride,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry...”_ His voice was still soft with youth, awed, excited and terrified all at once. He was so young. Was he really eleven? No, no he was ten, he'd be eleven on August 1 st but still; he seemed too young to be heading off to Hogwarts. The first of the pack children to ever attend Hogwarts, thanks to the recent completion of the Ministry reform.

 

“Well done, Vilkas,” Harry said encouragingly, breaking the silence that had fallen. “It’s where Draco and I went. You'll love it there. I knew they'd want you.”

 

A smile broke across Vilkas' face. “Really?” He looked down at his letter, then up at his mother. “Is it really real? I'm going to be a wizard as well as a werewolf? Like Harry and Draco?”

 

Amoux beamed down at her boy and stroked his blond curls. “The best Hogwarts and the pack have ever seen,” she said confidently. “Perhaps Harry could help me find all the things on this list of yours, I'm afraid I will be a little out of my depth,” she laughed good-naturedly as she took the list of supplies from her son.

 

“I'll take him if you want,” Harry offered brightly, knowing Amoux shied away from wizarding london wherever possible. “I've been meaning to take Kirian anyway, he's got some Christmas money to spend from Mr and Mrs Weasley.” Excited, happy chatter filled the circle now and eating resumed. Kirian had wolfed down the rest of his breakfast and bounded over to Vilkas to look at the very important letter. With the official Hogwarts seal so close to his son's hands, Harry wondered what it would feel like when Kirian got his letter. He ached a little at the thought. His little boy who was so sensitive and brave yet needy, who was still trying to give up his dummy at night and yet talking animatedly about Hogwarts and ghosts and _'Kidditch'_.

 

“You miss it,” Fenrir murmured from Harry's side, drawing Harry's attention back to him.

 

“Mmm?”

 

“That school. You miss it.” His tone was guarded.

 

Harry smiled fondly. “Yeah. It was my first home. I'm glad I get to go back there so often, visiting Snape and McGonagall and all that...” He sniffed slightly. Fenrir didn't smell afraid or tense, just...curious. “She made an interesting proposition to me when I went to see her last week, McGonagall, I mean,” Harry said carefully, testing the waters.

 

“Yeah?” Fenrir asked guardedly.

 

“There's a crash course for students resitting their NEWT exams starting at the castle in the January term,” Harry began, “Hermione and Draco went back right after the war was over, Ron never went back of course, got invited right into Auror Training personally by Robards and Kingsley but....well I wasn't ready to do it all then. We were sorting out werewolf prejudice and learning how to be parents and I wanted...I wanted just to be me for a bit, without worrying about anything else.” He remembered those months wrapped up in Fenrir and his baby son without the dark cloud of Voldemort looming over them, some of the happiest, most revealing months of his life.

 

“But you're ready now,” Fenrir said, again his voice giving nothing away.

 

Harry nodded. “It's every weekday until the beginning of May, then I'll sit my exams with the normal NEWT students,” he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, ruffling up his hair as he did so, “I may not even pass them, it's been a long time and everything but I wanted to give it a try. I can't explain it, I just...I feel like I left things unfinished. I want to finish them.” And besides that, if he got his NEWTs he'd finally feel like any career he might choose in the future would be one he'd earned with his talents, not with his readiness to follow a sodding prophecy.

 

“You want to finish school properly, because _Targeletum_ stole that from you, because you want to prove yourself. You want something for yourself, I get it,” Fenrir said and while his tone still wasn't biting, it wasn't exactly supportive either.

 

“So if you get it, why are you pissed off?” Harry asked, frowning. “Are you annoyed I want to go to school everyday? Kirian does lessons with the other kids and Accalia for nearly the exact same hours. He won't lose out and-”

 

“I'm annoyed because you've kept this to yourself for a week, even when I asked you about...” Fenrir winced and looked around them. No one was listening; they were all still focussed on Vilkas' news, but still Harry cast a hasty _Muffliato_ around them with a flick of his wrist.

 

“You'd better not tell me you're ticked off about me wanting to finish school because I said no to you the other night,” Harry said dangerously.

 Fenrir grimaced. "Make me sound like a complete arse, why don't you?" he sneered. 

 

 "If the shoe fits," Harry countered, sitting up straighter. "Tell me now, outright, you don't want me to go back to Hogwarts, do you? Why?" They lived a balanced life; though Fenrir was content with the village, forest and valley, Harry ventured out into the wizarding world all the time, by himself, with his friends, with Kirian, so why this? Why now?

 

 "Does it matter what I want?" Fenrir snapped under his breath, "it's not like I'm going to stop you, is it? Go, do what you want." He pushed to his feet and Harry followed, pursuing him to the opening in the Valley that lead out into the tunnels. As the gates closed behind them and the warm balm of the column light filled his vision. Fenrir was still walking. Harry grabbed his arm and Fenrir whirled with a snarl of irritation. Harry glared back, unmoved.

 

 "You can't run from me," Harry said, voice low. "You're..." he hesitated, feeling the throbbing unease between them, pulling the connection taut like a web of elastic. Embarrassed, frustrated, anxious and... "You're upset," Harry noted. He blinked, stunned for a moment on realising that there was no anger or bitterness there. Fenrir had done his best over the years to not let his distaste for the wizarding community stop Harry or even Kirian from enjoying what they wanted from it, but old wounds left scars that ran too deep for even time to heal. Some subjects had remained sensitive and Harry had learned to accept that as part of him. 

 

  _Because that's what love is,_ Remus' voice murmured in his head and Harry sighed, releasing Fenrir's arm and leaning back against the wall of the cave. He felt the cool smooth stone against his back through his Weasley sweater and stared at that face, illuminated by the soft light. Blue eyes glowed with it. "I thought we learned years ago that there's no sense in getting defensive and prickly with each other to try and hide the way we're feeling."

 

 He watched as those eyes fill with memories of that day, the day they'd been reunited after Harry's stay in St Mungo's, thinking Fenrir had left him and Kirian there, only to find how wrong he was. To find how guarded pride had been so easily mistaken for negligence. It was the same now, this man building up walls around himself that surpassed even those Harry had once held strong. If it wasn't so frustrating it might have been endearing.

 

 Fenrir huffed angrily, awkwardly and Harry raised a brow before sighing again, cocking his head to the side to expose the line of his throat. You couldn't pound your fists against a locked door and expect it to do anything but remain a solid obstacle. You couldn't fight guarded obstinacy with the same reasoning. Someone had to submit first and just for today, with the moon humming so close beneath the surface of the earth, it was him.

 

Harry closed his eyes and waited, shivering when Fenrir's stubble grazed his throat. Harry wrapped his arms round him and arched his neck more so the stone dragged slightly against the back of his head. “Tell me,” he demanded, voice roughened by the mouth scenting his skin to reassure himself. The fact that only _he_ was allowed to see this all-powerful beast so open, so uncertain only made it that more moving.

 

“You really don't see it, do you?” Fenrir's voice rumbled as he drew back just enough to look down at Harry's face. “That's the school where _Targarletum_ tried to kill you countless times, where the Ministry targeted you and the people who were supposed to be responsible for you dragged you into a war at fourteen.”

 

Harry winced. “I remember it fine, I'm the one that told you all of it – remember?” Although he suspected Remus, Draco and Hermione had done some 'sharing' as well. He released the man before him and began to walk the tunnels, reassured when he felt Fenrir fall into place beside him. “You realise that I'm an adult now, yeah? I'm not a child that anyone can drag into anything–”

 

“If that teacher of yours or Snape asked you to do something you'd do it,” Fenrir cut across him. “No matter how dangerous. Don't pretend you wouldn't.”

 

“McGonagall would only ask of me what she had to, she wouldn't risk my life on a whim and Snape is almost as irritating about my safety as you. Even if they did ask, I'd do it because I cared about them, not because I had to and anyway I'd...” He paused, half-way through saying 'I'd be careful' when he saw that look in Fenrir's eyes, the one that was filled of that day when Harry had walked in to face Voldemort, knowing he would die.

 

“It's not the same as then,” Harry nearly whispered, still walking. The light of the columns was still bright with afternoon sunshine that warmed them as they moved. “That was the only way. Now it's...it's not war, Fenrir, I'm not the world's last hope and what matters to me most is you and Kirian. I wouldn't do anything that'd mean I'd have to leave you.”

 

It was easier to talk and walk, walking meant they couldn't feel awkward or embarrassed about the mawkish words or their twinned inarticulacy. He felt more than saw Fenrir scratch at his own neck uncertainly though, all the same.

 

“Even if I know all that,” the man grumbled, “doesn't mean I can't worry. I'd never stop you, I know you need to have an...identity outside of Kirian and me. Outside of the pack. I know you love that world back there.” He gestured with mild irritation toward the wall, but Harry knew he meant the wizarding world. He didn't need clarification.

 

“You worry about me all the time,” Harry said lightly, “we have a good balance, don't we? That won't change. Just a few months of school won't make the world end. And after that, even when I get a job I'd still come home every night to this, to our home. I'm not going to get _bored_ of you. I'm not going to find myself some nice young witch and decide I want to leave. I'm not going to decide I want to leave. This is my home, I chose it, alright? I chose you.”

 

Fenrir didn't meet his eyes but Harry thought he could sense embarrassed relief in the warmth pulling between them. He turned his gaze back to the tunnels as they turned again. They were coming toward the entrance. He longed to run, to feel the grass underneath him and the biting January wind. He wondered if Fenrir realised how _normal_ his fears were, his insecurities, how everyone had them to some degree. A man who'd watched his family murdered was not at all out of place for feeling like that. If Harry had to spend the rest of their lives convincing him of it, so be it.

 

“Why do you never feel like this?” Fenrir murmured roughly. “Are you so bloody confident I'll never leave you?” He sounded almost petulant, almost.

 

Harry laughed softly. “I have my own demons, I s'pose. I work myself up about other things.” Like the cub thing, like every time Kirian so much as got a runny nose. “We all have our...errr...quirks.” He got a small laugh out of Fenrir again, but there was still something else. When they reached the entrance where a mask of ivy, vines, moss and rock shielded them from the view of the outside, Harry lay his hand on the stone to stop Fenrir from opening the path. Instead of demanding any answer he just stared, waiting and Fenrir gave a small growl of annoyance.

 

“It's irrational, there's no point it talking about it,” he insisted. “Even I know how bloody stupid it'd sound so drop it, alright?”

 

Pushing his other hand into the middle of Fenrir's chest, Harry remained silent, waiting, demanding.

 

Fenrir audibly grinded his teeth together. “It just seems like there's always something, alright? We talk about it and we get close to it and then there's something else that becomes more important, becomes the next thing,” Fenrir bit out harshly, all in one breath, as if daring Harry to take offense.

 

There was no doubting what 'it' was. Yes, it was irrational; it was pushy and so human that it tugged at Harry's insides like a leech drawing on flesh to taste the blood. Harry dropped his hand from Fenrir's chest. “I've never said never,” he said, trying not to feel angry or hurt. “What happened last time fucked me up, you know that. Even you knew the timing was bad, that I was too young and too new and too bloody traumatised by everything else. Can you blame me for not wanting to leap into it again?”

 

“I never said I blamed you,” Fenrir snapped. “I haven't pushed you, have I? You pushed for a sodding answer and that's it. That's how I feel – I can't change it even though I know it's unreasonable and selfish and all the rest. I didn't _want_ to talk about it, you did. I know it makes me sound like an arsehole, alright? So let's forget it.” He pushed at the stone and the familiar screeching rang through the tunnels. Harry winced, clapping his hands over his ears. Before he could recover from the unsettling vibrating in his ears, Fenrir was gone, darting out of sight into the trees.

 

Sighing heavily, Harry slowly followed, hearing the rockface close behind him. Panic, anger and bitterness pulsed with each rapid thud of his pulse. Yes, he _had_ been the one to push Fenrir. Fenrir had known his desires were perhaps not the most moral, because he hadn't wanted to hurt Harry. But the fact that he wanted that, the one thing Harry was reluctant to give, the one thing that Harry had been thinking about for nearly a year now…

 

It'd been on his mind since just before Astrid had been born. Draco’s condition had only brought up bitter memories for Harry, but the sight of her, small and pink and wriggling in Draco's arms had made him ache with the need to feel it himself again. He'd wanted it so badly and yet he hadn't dared to admit that in all these months because in spite of that, he was afraid. He didn't want to feel helpless as he had while he’d carried Kirian. He didn't want to feel vulnerable, unbalanced or out of control. He thought he might have lost himself back then if he'd let it overcome him. And perhaps the simplest fear of all; the thought of the wolf pinning him down and taking him again made his stomach turn.

 

He couldn't do it. It'd taken so long to be comfortable with the wolf, but comfort and acceptance was a far cry from wanting to be... _fucked_ by an animal. He winced and walked faster. As the trees greeted him with familial passes of their branches, he saw Fenrir's trousers and loose shirt lying on the ground. He'd changed as he bolted, which meant he'd probably got further than Harry could get on human feet. Dragging his fingers through his fringe and across his face, Harry shrugged off his own shirt, kicking off his trousers just in time to save them from his own transformation.

 

Black paws carried him in the direction of Fenrir's scent but when the edge of one of the paths of the river began to run alongside him, he knew where he'd find him. The great silver wolf stood at the place where the waterfall jutted over a cliff-face, the place where Harry had once stood and discovered that he was carrying Kirian, where rogue wolves had tried to use it against him to make him submit. He didn't change, but instead stood there waiting, seeing those ears flicking to acknowledge his arrival even if Fenrir didn't turn to face him.

 

It was easier to communicate honestly sometimes as they were now, with no human embarrassment or words to get in the way. Because what words could possibly portray his longing and the equally potent fears that prohibited it? There were none.

 

The silver wolf eventually seemed to grow impatient and turned roughly, glaring at Harry with ice-blue eyes as if daring him to come forward. Harry did, unafraid of the challenge and hesitated for only a moment in front of him, before stepping forward to brush his muzzle against Fenrir's own, against his neck and side, until he was walking a full circle round him to face him once more. When that gaze held him guardedly, Harry cocked his head and let his tail wag hopefully. He didn't want to fight. Not about this, because Fenrir hadn't pushed and couldn't help what he wanted anymore than Harry could help being afraid of it.

 

Grumbling, Fenrir butted him half-heartedly in the neck and slunk toward the edge of the water. Never knowing when to give up, Harry joined him, countering that huff of annoyance by nipping at the side of Fenrir's neck. Another huff. Harry growled, leaping forward and slamming into Fenrir until they both rolled, splashing into the edge of the water, kicking up spray and dirt. He growled again, play-biting that muzzle until at last it nipped back, flipping them over, momentarily submerging them both in deeper water.

 

Yelping, Harry dashed out from under him, kicking up water into his face and bolting for the shore. Fenrir landed on top of him with a hard thud, sending them both crashing to the dirt. When Harry felt him stand over him, he wriggled round onto his back until he was staring up into blazing ice blue eyes. A large tongue lapped at his muzzle and Harry shivered as the cool air licked against his damp fur. Panting for a moment, he let the change carry him easily back until he was human again, reaching up to drag his fingers through that soft silver pelt.

“I don't like it when you walk away from me,” he admitted, voice low and thick in his throat, a little hoarse with breathlessness. The silver muzzle brushed against him lovingly and Harry pressed his cheek into the touch, gripping that fur tight. Part of living through a war was that even now, every time they parted still sometimes felt like it might be the last time. Hermione still always whispered _“be safe”_ with each parting hug and Ron still squeezed his shoulder a little too tightly before he let go. Harry knew some members of the village joked that he was a neurotic, paranoid _'mother'_ too. The war's effects were far-reaching even now and Harry hated parting with Fenrir in quarrel, even if it was for a few hours.

 

He couldn't bear it.

 

A low rumbling sound reassured him, teeth worrying his jaw gently and Harry slid his fingers up to stroke those ears. He closed his eyes. “It's not that I don't want to, I'm just...I'm afraid, alright? Surely even you can understand why?”

 

A sharp huff against his neck was his only warning before the wolf drew back and shuddered and Fenrir's mortal face was inches from his own, arms bracing his weight Harry above his head, both of them bare and dripping on the bank of the waterfall's source. “Being afraid is a reason for why you're holding back, but it doesn't have to be an excuse. Unless you want it to be?”

 

Lost for words momentarily, Harry glanced awkwardly off to the side, watching the water crest and vanish over the edge of the cliff. The noisy rushing crash of water was oddly soothing, as was the warmth of Fenrir's body and the sun's light against his skin, even on the chilly January morning. As if remembering the season, Harry shivered and Fenrir smiled, flicking his wrist with a wordless, wandless drying charm. Before pressing down until Harry could feel him covering him from head to toe. It felt nice, the pressure of the body above him, not suffocating at all. It'd taken him a while to enjoy this again. He sighed, leaning his head into Fenrir's neck.

 

He was thinking of Astrid's little face, of how different her birth had been to his son's, an example of how his _should_ have been...

 

Suddenly he ached with such ferocity that he had to clench his teeth to stave off the noise that wanted to bubble up in his throat like acid. He wanted it, of course he did, and fear had never stopped him before but...this was different to facing dementors and dragons and even death.

 

“I don't want to have sex with you as a wolf,” he said hesitantly. “I know when we...when Kirian was...that I _came_ but it wasn't...” They rarely spoke about that night, the night they both couldn't bear to regret either. Fenrir had unwittingly raped him, Harry had orgasmed but he'd not _enjoyed_ it. He couldn't imagine ever doing so. If they had to face that again, but on their choosing this time...

 

“I think I could wait twenty years, even fifty and I'd still not want to,” Harry said at last. “Even if it is part of me. That's not going to change.”

 

Fenrir drew back just enough to stare into his eyes consideringly. “It won't be like last time,” he said gravely, brushing his fingers against Harry's jaw.

 

Harry gave a bittersweet smile and cover the hand with his own. “I just...it feels degrading. I know it's just what we are, but I just can't _want_ to be...mounted by an animal. Even if it is you inside. I can't. How can I get past that? Even if I can handle you pinning me down, if I can get passed the helplessness and the emasculating embarrassment of actually, you know, being... _pregnant_. Those are things I can handle, to get what I want, but this is...I can't force myself to want it.” He could endure it, but he wouldn't enjoy it. He didn't know how to phrase it any better than that.

 

With a thoughtful sigh, Fenrir rolled off him and sat up, staring up at the gloomy grey clouds that crept across the sun. Harry shimmied back into his clothes, cooler now Fenrir's warmth wasn't there to shield him against the January chill – werewolf blood or no werewolf blood. They didn't speak the entire journey back to the valley. Not even when he flooed with Kirian to The Burrow for lunch.

“Perhaps you could, well...” Hermione flushed scarlet, visibly struggling to find polite words to form her reply to the concerns he'd confided in her and Ron in the back garden of The Burrow. Molly and Arthur were leading a curious but skittish Kirian around the garden, letting him help pick the vegetables for Sunday lunch. It was a sight that filled Harry with warmth, the kind that eased his unsettled nerves. The full moon was tonight. He could kid himself that he would feel better after it was done, but he wouldn't. He knew what would make himself feel better, he was just didn't know how to get it without...

 

“Perhaps we could try a sort of magical artificial insemination? Perhaps...we could...obtain Fenrir's...ah, _sample_ and somehow get it into you without the need for any...” She trailed off. Never had Hermione looked so lost for words. Ron's ears were beet red and he was peeling the potatoes a little too vigorously. Harry smiled, comforted by his friends. It was a bizarre topic, one they could all probably have done without, but they were trying, for him.

 

“We'd need to get it off Fenrir while he was transformed on the full moon night, then get it into me, I don't think it'd be possible,” Harry said. He tried to imagine doctors approaching Fenrir's wolf with a sample cup, or maybe one of those mounting blocks that they used at horse studs. The image was morbidly amusing, but he didn't think Fenrir would entertain it – or perhaps he would, if Harry asked, but he couldn't. It didn't make sense.

 

“Not that I can't see why you don't want to,” Ron said hesitantly, “I mean...sorry, but it’s like fucking a dog, isn't it?” He winced, before ploughing ahead. “But a lot of witches and wizards have to have invasive magical surgery to...you know, have a baby. It's traumatising and unpleasant but they want one so badly they do it.” When Hermione flinched, Ron glanced to her but continued. “I'm not saying you don't want one badly enough, I just...you know, you have to weigh it up. Is it worth the struggle to you?”

 

Hermione slapped his arm, meaning the potato in his grasp slipped and become incredibly misshapen. “Ronald!” she hissed. “Of all the insensitive-!”

 

“I didn't mean he was being a pansy or anything!”

 

“Don't you understand? It's not the same as getting over a fear or enduring horrific medical treatment. What happened with Fenrir and Harry when Kirian was conceived was...it was pretty much ra-”

 

“Shh!” Harry urged her, glancing at Kirian, casting a _Muffliato_ around them. His hearing wasn't as matured as Fenrir's but it was still advanced. The little boy seemed entranced with the dirigible plums Arthur was admiring – the ones they'd received from Luna and planted at Harry's birthday party here last year. They'd grown a great deal. “It isn't the same as overcoming medical trauma,” he agreed softly, “but it is something I have to conquer if I want kids.” Not just for himself, having wanted a large family since he could remember but also for Fenrir, who longed for laughter and a household as full as his own had been, to try and make up for his lost siblings. For both of them.

 

Hermione set her hand over his. “No one's forcing you into this, Harry,” she said softly. “Fenrir wouldn't push you if it really upset you. You said as much. He loves you.”

 

“It's not just about what Fenrir wants,” Harry said distantly, watching Kirian tuck his blanket into his shirt so it wouldn't get dirty as he helped Mrs Weasley pull some carrots. “I want it. I want it so badly lately that's it's making me a right miserable twat. I can't get it out of my head, it's like...it's like...” He didn't know what to liken it to. A stomach ache that never faded. A tightness in his chest. A longing. He looked up and caught Ron's eye and felt stupid.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I know I'm being all melodramatic and everything. I blame the moon...”

 

Ron snorted and flicked a scrap of potato peel at him. “Mate, I know we've faced some pretty weird stuff together but it's alright to be messed up and worried about normal things too.” He raised his eyebrows, waving the potato peeler demonstratively – a muggle one, the kind Mrs Weasley always encouraged them to use. She said it built character to do some things without magic. The sight of it made Harry's lips twitch despite himself.

 

“You act like you shouldn't complain or worry about normal things just because worse things have happened – you _are_ human, you know,” Ron added. “Partly anyway.”

 

Harry blinked. “You call this normal?” he asked, only part joking.

 

Ron frowned. “Well...yeah, it's normal to you. To us. You're not a freak, Harry and you're not a wuss.”

 

A real smile tugged at Harry's mouth then and he gave Ron a small nod of thanks. Sometimes, the way Ron said things was the right way. Just sometimes.

 

“On that train of thought,” Hermione said, picking up a spare peeler and starting to help Ron with the pile. “Harry, aside from the trauma you suffered, there's nothing wrong with what...what needs to be done for you to conceive. You aren't fully human, you're a werewolf and things are different for you. It's not sordid or shameful. It's a natural part of a werewolf's life. Did you think any less of Malfoy for it?”

 

“Urgh, thanks for that image, 'Mione,” Ron muttered, at the same time as Harry replied.

 

“No. Of course not. It's not...it's not like a weird human kink or anything. It's not really done for...” He trailed off. It was another part of his world he found hard to explain. It wasn't done just because they fancied it, because they got pleasure out of it. Wolves only did it that way when they wanted to procreate. His face twisted as he tried to find his words but the look on his best friends' faces told him he needn't struggle.

 

“We know, Harry,” Hermione said gently. “And so, if you do decide you can...with Fenrir, like _that_ then, well it's no different than it was for Malfoy. It's just another quirk of werewolf life, I suppose.”

 

Harry snorted, fidgeting in his seat at the picnic table they were huddled round. “It's just...I could sort of...it sounds ridiculous but I wasn't so concerned about it before. I didn't _choose_ to do it last time, so I felt sort of...”

 

“Liberated?”

 

“Let off?”

“Yeah,” Harry admitted sheepishly to Ron's suggestion. “Like I wasn't a deviant because I didn't choose to have sex with Fenrir while he was all...” His face burned darkly. “But if I do...Lord, whatever way you look at it I'm a little pervert who gets off having a dog fuck him.” He felt queasy.

“Listen to me, Harry Potter,” Hermione said tartly. “If there was anything we learned during the war, it was that life is short, even for wizards. You have to take chances and live life for yourself and your loved ones or it might slip away one day or change irrevocably and you'll spend the rest of your life wishing you'd done more.”

 

Harry froze, not knowing what to say.

 

“If you want this, Harry, we'll make it happen, but don't let what you _think_ you should feel hold you back. Fear and uncertainty we can conquer, but not if you doubt yourself,” she finished, setting her peeler down. She reached for his hand again and with a softer voice, she murmured, “Perhaps you and Fenrir can just try? Just...see how you feel? You can always say no if it gets too much. You eventually were able to be with Fenrir as a wolf again even when you couldn't even look at him at first, weren't you? Perhaps...baby steps, so to speak? No one's saying it has to happen overnight.”

 

Harry didn't realise how uneven his breathing had become until he choked on it, grasping her hand and looking between her and Ron. He hesitated, not for the first or last time overwhelmed at their unconditional love. He didn't think it would ever stop surprising him with its intensity.

 

After a moment, Ron kicked him playfully under the table. “At least if you try, even if you can't go through with it after all, you'll know you tried, right?”

 

Before Harry could answer, the invisible bubble of _Muffliato_ burst as Kirian came barrelling towards them, sobbing loudly, practically leaping into Harry's lap. “What's the matter?” Harry asked, panicked, wrapping one arm round him to pull him in close while he pushed dark auburn locks out of that pink-tear-streaked face.

 

“Gnome was hiding in the broccoli,” Arthur said, breathing hard as he rushed to his side, “Didn't see it. Gave him a nasty nip, I'm afraid. No real damage but quite a bit of blood, think it gave him a bit of a fright.”

 

Harry glanced down quickly to where Kirian was clutching at his hand, blood splattering his clenched fist. His stomach flipped, instincts springing to their feet, ears pricked and ready, his breath came out in uneasy ripples as he drew Kirian's hand to his face to study it. It was only a little nip, but the dozen pinpricks went deep into that plump skin and it made him wince. Fenrir teased him endlessly about his overprotective parenting, that he shouldn't fuss so much, but there was nothing teasing about the fat tears rolling over Kirian’s cheeks.

 

“Hey, it's alright, Kiri,” he said softly, passing his hand over Kirian's hand to banish the bloody mess before pulling the injured skin to his mouth and sucking firmly. Kirian blinked wet eyelashes at him and the sniffling ceased with slow, uncontrollable hiccoughs. Harry smiled dotingly at him, relinquishing his hand. “Alpha can do a better job than me when we get home, but it'll stop the bleeding and numb it,” he said, smoothing a hand through Kirian's wayward auburn locks and staring into those green eyes. It was funny how Kirian seemed to have so much of Fenrir in him, yet could pull expressions like that – wide-eyed and uncertain and needy.

 

“Sorry about that, Harry,” Arthur said uncertainly.

 

Harry shook his head, “it's alright. These things happen. I think he's been cursed with my tendency to find trouble,” he mused, letting Kirian press his head against his collarbone and sit there for a moment. He'd always liked his comforts, but he seemed more in need of it around the full moon. Probably he could sense the unease in his bones and didn't know quite how to deal with it yet. Harry wrapped both arms round him, a little guilty that he enjoyed it. He wanted Kirian to be confident and bold but he also enjoyed these moments with him. He was always a lot more fiesty when Teddy was around, perhaps the trip to Diagon Alley after the moon would do him some good.

 

“Come on, Kirian, let's see if Gran has started the yorkshire puddings yet,” Arthur said brightly, holding a calloused hand out for the little boy to take. Kirian loved Yorkshire pudding the best. Tentatively, Kirian glanced up at Harry who smirked.

 

“I'm not going anywhere, go on. Maybe you can make sure you get the biggest one for yourself,” he hedged and Kirian sat up straighter, snagging Arthur's hand and marching with him through the open kitchen door that the smell of roast chicken was wafting from. Harry couldn't ever explain how good it felt to see Arthur and Molly with Kirian, treating him as if he were every bit of their grandchild as Victoire – Fleur and Bill's daughter. Kirian even inherited a good share of Weasley 'boy toys' which thrilled him to no end. He loved the twins, who were absent tonight, but often packed his pockets with thrilling treats and tricks to show the other pack children.

 

“What do you think you'll do, Harry?” Hermione asked softly once Kirian and Arthur had disappeared into the house. When Harry hesitated she added, “We're here for you, whatever happens. I think...I think though it's not as simple as 'trying' when you experienced what you did – with the man you love, no less, you will feel better when you're actually trying, doing something. You never have been one to sit back and think on things. It's not the way you are.”

 

Harry nodded. “I know. I think I already knew what I had to do to make myself happy, Fenrir too I just...it's good to talk sometimes.” He smiled up at them both with a tinge of embarrassment lingering in his cheeks and reached for the third potato peeler. “I suppose I'll let you know how it goes in the morning.”

 

Ron blinked. “I thought you were going back to school for a few months?”

 

“My exams will be the beginning of May, they'll be over a good few weeks before it...comes to a head,” he replied with a wince.

 

Hermione scoffed. “If you are intending to go through with this, Harry, you really should learn to _say it_ at least. Fear of a name only increases the fear of the thing itself.”

 

Harry felt like they were eleven again. “This is embarrassment, not fear,” he replied without missing a beat. He was answered with a knowing look.

 

“You don't think exams and NEWTs aren't a bit much to take on as well as a pregnancy?” she asked cautiously.

 

Harry popped his peeled potato into the pot and snatched up another. It felt good to keep his hands busy. “To be honest, I think it'll be good to keep busy, to carry on as normal. When I...when I had Kirian before, I felt like I was being treated like an invalid, like a trophy wife or something.” Even though he'd known they why he couldn't venture out or do much, it hadn't stopped him feeling like it. Hormones weren't logical, after all. Nor were feelings.

 

“You never could sit still,” Hermione lamented.

 

Harry flicked a slice of potato peel at her. Ron laughed.

 

*                       *                       *

 

With Kirian sleepy with food and excitement after Mr Weasley had let him have a go with Charlie's old train set, Harry stepped through the floo at the den with a sleepy child in his arms. He sniffed. He could smell Fenrir nearby, but Ghost greeted him first, barrelling into the room and wagging his tail happily.

 

“Missed you too, boy,” Harry said with a grin, supporting Kirian with one arm so he could stroke the wolf's head. He walked into Kirian's room and lay the boy on the bed. “Watch him for a minute for me?” He received no answer but he knew Ghost had understood, for he eased onto the bed beside Kirian and watched dutifully as Harry retreated from the room, ears pricked and tail slapping contently against the sheets. Maybe next time Harry would take Ghost with him, Molly wasn't overly fond of dogs but Ghost could behave, Harry was sure of it.

 

Following his senses, Harry found Fenrir in the large bath, leaning back on his arms at the edge, completely submerged below the chest. “Hi,” Harry said uncertainly, feeling the tension between them. Fenrir grunted, apparently as lost for words as Harry, who knelt down behind him and glanced around for a moment, before taking up the shampoo. He lathered it up in his hands and began to massage it through Fenrir's hair. A soft, appreciative groan sounded and he felt some of the tension ebb.

 

“Harry,” Fenrir began, while Harry smoothed the suds through his mane. “Earlier, I know what it sounded like but I really don't–”

 

“I know,” Harry said, taking the jug from the side and scooping water up. Like he did for Kirian, he cupped his hand over Fenrir's hairline to guide the water back off his face and tipped the jug over it to wash away the suds. “We're both on edge with the moon and this...this is like the elephant in the room we're both too afraid of upsetting each other to mention.” He repeated the action a few more times until the suds were gone and then ran his fingers through the water-darkened hair thoughtfully. “I know you wouldn't...that you didn't mean to...you know.”

 

Fenrir turned to stare up at him from the bath. They were both as inarticulate as each other with emotions and confessions, that hadn't changed over the years. Harry hoped Kirian was better adjusted than them; he was exposed to enough emotions and feelings anyway, so he could hope.

 

“I always wanted lots of kids, I'm sure you know why,” Fenrir said haltingly, grimacing slightly and staring just below Harry's neck so he could avoid his eyes. “I don't have to say it. You know it all. I can't turn that off, I can't help but want it but I want...”

 

“Fenrir,” Harry began but that glare silenced him – for once.

 

“I want your happiness means more,” Fenrir said roughly. “Yeah, I'd like more kids, I'd like to have the chance to experience with you what was taken from me when you had Kirian but it's not the be all and end all to my happiness.” He spoke rapidly, as if all in one breath, as if he had to get it out quickly before he lost the nerve to confess. When Harry's lips parted to speak, to interrupt, Fenrir gripped his wrist tightly, almost urgently.

 

“ _You_ make me happy,” Fenrir admitted, voice quiet and rough. “You need to know that. I've got you and Kirian and that's what matters. I can't stop wanting something that I've wanted since before I met you, but it's just that, alright? It's just _wanting_. If I can't have it I'm still the bloody happiest man there is.” He slid his hands up and gripped Harry's face, covering his throat the way he always did with damp hands, rough thumbs brushing his jaw in his way of showing affection. Devotion.

 

Harry could have cared less that he was dripping water all down him.

 

“I know you can't help but want something, you're only human,” Harry said with a small smile.

 

Fenrir gave a relieved yet annoyed scowl. “Coming in?” he asked, eyes bright.

 

Harry hesitated. He covered Fenrir's hands with his own and then pushed them down reluctantly, until their joined fingers rested on his knees, making damp patches in his trousers there. “No, I want...I need to say something first.”

 

Those bright blue eyes clouded again. Harry pushed ahead quickly, before Fenrir could assume the worst as he often did. It always seemed to be Fenrir giving a little first, taking the first step to bridge their little arguments with admitting the truth of his feelings and while that made guilt lap at Harry, it gave him the nerve to speak plainly. “I want to try. I don't know if I can. I know I don't _want_ to experience 'that' part of it again anyway but I want to try. I want...I want what you want. If I let being afraid stop me from even trying I'll spend the rest of my life wondering.”

 

Fenrir blinked, the same way Kirian did sometimes, mind almost audibly reeling as he processed Harry's rapid explanation. His lips parted soundlessly, water clinging to them for a moment before he found his voice. “But you...my wolf, doing that to you, I–”

 

“That wasn't your fault,” Harry said sharply. “It wasn't mine either. It was just...it happened and no, I can't say as I'm looking forward to that part but...well... I _want_ more kids, Fenrir and if you did get out of control again or if I changed my mind, I've got my magic now. I can stop you.” When Fenrir said nothing, he held his gaze. “I might not be able to do it, but I want to try.”

 

That brow furrowed. “But I thought you wanted to go back to that school of yours?”

 

“It's only until early May,” Harry said, with a sense of de ja vu. Admitting to Fenrir that he might lose his nerve if he waited too long really was too much, he kept quiet.

 

Fenrir's fingertips curled, nails scraping gently against Harry's clothed knees. “I can't ask you to do that,” he said at last, voice rough and unsteady.

 

Harry glared hotly. “You're not, I'm telling you. This is what's happening.” When he realised how that sounded, his face flushed. “That came out wrong, I...I mean–”

 

Suddenly Fenrir seized him by the shoulders and dragged him sharply down, yanking him into the warm water with a great crash. The water rushed over him, until he surfaced breathless, panting and drenched. Fenrir kissed him hard, clawing at his back and hair and swallowing every sound of surprise greedily, as if unwilling to share the noises with anyone else.

 

When they broke apart, Harry sought those eyes and saw them burning an impossibly bright blue.

 

“Just try,” Fenrir murmured as the water lapped at their skin and Harry's clothes. “But if you change your mind or you can't do it this time then stop me and we can try again – or not at all, just...” He gripped Harry's hair and pressed their foreheads together; breathing him and the steam in. “I don't want it to be like last time.” _Don't make me rape you_ , he clearly meant and Harry realised it must be a hard thing to, to have the potential that he might wake up to find he'd inadvertently raped the person he loved.

 

“I've got you in check this time,” Harry mused, pushing Fenrir's chin up with a knuckle, but as he leant in for the kiss, Fenrir gripped his hair tighter and stopped him.

 

“I mean it, Harry,” he said fiercely. “Don't be a martyr in this. I only want this if you do as well, for yourself. If it's like last time, I want no part in it.” _You're too important to me_ , was the clear, unspoken implication. It'd been five good years and Harry thought it felt so much longer, yet not enough at the same time.

 

Harry gave him a wistful smile. “I'm far too old to be playing the martyr,” he said.

 

“Nearly Twenty-four, practically an old beggar,” Fenrir growled with a smirk.

 

Harry swiped at the water, splashing Fenrir right across the face. “If I'm the old beggar you're a corpse,” he laughed, a sound drowned out by water as Fenrir play-bit into his shoulder and they both tumbled under the surface.

 

*                       *                       *

 

Harry didn't think he'd anticipated a full moon rising so much before, not even his first one. He drew in a low breath to steady his nerves, which weren't helped any by the prospect of leaving Kirian alone on a full moon for the first time. His son scrunched his face up as Harry tugged his shirt off his head in preparation for his transformation and then helped him out of his trousers.

 

“How did you manage to get so dirty just at The Burrow?” Harry laughed, wiping his sleeve over Kirian's face.

 

Kirian scrubbed at his shock of dark red hair, left dishevelled from the removal of his shirt. “How come you get to go outside? I want to go with you,” he pouted. Harry beamed at that little face, chest aching with the adoration he felt - it was still startling sometimes, even now. "Maybe we'll have a moon outside the den next month," Harry tried to placate him, carding his fingers through the rebellious locks.

 

"Maybe?" Kirian repeated with dissatisfaction. Harry just rolled his eyes and helped him step out of his trousers, setting the garments on the side table before shrugging out of his own shirt.

 

"Your Alpha and I...we have something we've got to do, that's all," Harry tried, avoiding those curious eyes as he stepped out of his trousers and pulled Fenrir's fur cloak around him. His skin, warmed by the moon heat prickled but he knew he'd want its shelter when he stepped out into the cool night air. That, and he still didn't feel quite at home completely bare in front of others. Kirian and Fenrir were one thing, but not the whole pack – not when the full swing of the moon wasn't upon him yet anyway. He'd be forever just a little bit human and he sort of preferred it that way. Even if Kirian and Fenrir teased him for it.

 

Kirian's big green eyes widened. "What something? Something secret?" he asked, eager.

 

Harry winced at his own lack of foresight and sight, reaching down and swinging his son up onto his hip. He'd been born small but like all other born wolves, was now about the size of a human five year old. Almost too heavy to be carrying around still. Almost. He looped his arms round Harry's neck as Harry stepped toward the door, Ghost hot on their heels and licking at Kirian's toes with excitement.

 

"Do you get lonely, Kiri?" he asked thoughtfully, hesitating at the door. Kirian buried his nose in Harry's neck and inhaled, snuffling softly. He was so calm and content and at peace with the human and wolf parts of himself in a way Harry had only just really gotten used to. It was a very moving thing for someone who'd taken so long to realise who he was. He and Fenrir had done good considering everything that had happened. He was grateful for that.

 

"I have you and Alpha," Kirian said. "And Ghost. And Vilkas and Astrid and-"

 

"But do you ever wish...?" Harry cleared his throat, thinking of his own lonely childhood in a dark cupboard with only spiders to talk to. It wasn't like that for Kirian, he was surrounded by people who loved him and children his own age that were pretty much his brothers and sisters. "Do you ever wish you had a brother or sister to play with?"

 

Kirian lifted his head for a moment, looking confused. "Uncle Draco, he said to Echo that Alpha wanted babies."

 

Harry bit the inside of his mouth. "Yeah?" he asked hesitantly.

 

Kirian nodded, his brow furrowed the way his father's was so often. "Like Astrid babies?"

 

“Yeah,” Harry replied. “Sort of, except...you'd be a big brother. You'd have to...help Alpha and me to look after it.”

 

Kirian looked thoughtful. He was bright for his age (under Harry's estimation anyway) but he was still not quite five years old. He glanced down at Ghost, as if he held all the answers. The wolf wagged his tail and snuffled at Kirian's bare toes. “I don't like girls,” he said with wrinkled nose, clearly thinking of the twins that screeched and chased him and Teddy round with gleeful giggles, insisting on 'kiss chase' and things that made Kirian's ears go red. “Girls can’t play right.”

 

Harry laughed. “Oh, but a brother would be alright, yeah?”

 

Kirian perked up. “Vilkas goes to school soon, Teddy goes to muggle school too after summer. I won't have anyone to play with.”

 

Harry smiled fondly. “So you'd like a little brother to play with maybe? Before summer?”

 

Kirian beamed. “Really?” he asked, hopeful. “Maybe I could show him things and...and I won't be the baby anymore.”

 

Harry felt a pang of nostalgia at those words, but the fact that Kirian was so earnestly excited was a relief. It hardened his resolve, because this wasn't just for him or Fenrir, it was for Kirian too. Harry hadn't imagined the loneliness of an only child being reborn in his son – it would never be the same as his horrific childhood but the principal was the same.

 

“I'll see what I can do,” he mused, brushing the corner of his mouth against Kirian's cheek, scenting and kissing at the same time in the perfect compromise of human and wolf affection as he pushed the door open.

 

“Daddy?” Kirian asked as Harry carried him toward the stone circle where the others were gathering. “Where do babies come from?”

 

Harry froze, saliva filling his mouth until it felt thick and useless. Ghost swirled around them, yipping excitedly. The full moon was close.

“When two grown ups love each other, they bond together under the moon and then make babies together,” Larentia said brightly as she approached from the side, holding her arms out for Kirian. She was completely naked, which made Harry's cheeks flame as he smiled at her thankfully. She'd softened so much over the last few years, Kirian had softened her, Harry thought. Saved her.

 

“How?” Kirian asked, glancing from Larentia to Harry.

 

Larentia caught Harry's gaze, her eyes glittering in the last rays of the sun. “Magic,” she said, grinning broadly as she hefted Kirian high on her hip. Ghost danced around her now on his toes, the buzz of the moon so close. Harry's head felt fuzzy, light and airy as if he'd spun around and now was trying to walk and think straight. Breath was coming faster, his skin felt itchy and hot even in the cool January air.

 

“I'd better get going,” he murmured, brushing his mouth against Kirian's cheek. “Be good for Larentia, Kiri. You too, Ghost.” The wolf yapped. Kirian's eyes were big and uncertain. He loved Larentia but with the unsettled feelings the moon inspired in everyone, he felt obviously vulnerable and he'd never had a moon without Harry before. Never. Harry worried at the inside of his mouth again.

 

All at once he was dragged back to that morning all those years ago, where he'd had to pass his baby boy into Draco's arms to face his death, knowing he'd never see him again. It hit him as if he'd run straight into solid stone. He felt sick. _Stop being melodramatic,_ he told himself, but with little success. He couldn't help how he felt. It was always so hard to leave Kirian even for a few moments; it always had been after that but now, with the moon close and pulsing thickly in his veins like lava.

 

His body began so shake.

 

“Daddy?” Kirian asked, evidently sensing his unease. Ghost butted Harry's hand.

 

“I'll look after them,” Larentia swore softly, her voice warm, gentle as she gripped Harry's shoulder. “There is no Dark Lord. Only your own demons.”

 

Harry forced his eyes open and saw Kirian's head cocked in confusion, saw Larentia's arm round him as loving and secure as a mother wolf's and he knew his son would be safe. It helped, but did not eradicate the feeling of aching loss, the chasm that had never fully closed that morning he'd had to force himself away. He ached. He felt sick. The moon was so close. He had to go. Fenrir was already out there waiting.

 

“I...” He saw his baby boy wriggling in Draco's arms in Grimmauld Place all over again and swallowed around the thickness in his throat. Perhaps this was another opportunity, another chance to cross a bridge he'd been trying to find a way around for years. After all, once his lessons started, he'd have to leave Kirian for hours each week day...

 

_Oh God._

 

“I'm alright, Kiri,” he tried, voice only a little more ragged than usual. “Be a good boy for me.” He hesitated for a moment longer, before a prickle of awareness and a rush of moon heat flooded his senses. His groin tightened and he stepped back, pulling the cloak more securely around him. Oh God. He was going to rut against the bloody grass if he didn't move soon.

 

Larentia raised a brow knowingly. “Have fun, Alpha Numero,” she mused and Harry glared, before turning and walking quickly toward the gate, his stomach twisting at the growing distance between him and his cub. The ache brewed and festered all the way through the tunnels, eating away at him in the softly lit caverns until at last, when he reached the outside world, the forest, the sharp wind struck like a revitalising slap in the face. He groaned as he stepped onto the grass, bare toes digging into the dewy ground as relief swept through him. The sun had almost set; he could see the dying red light just through the trees.

 

Fenrir was close. Harry drew in a sharp, bracing breath, embracing the moon heat that swept through him to smother everything else but the desire boiling hotly in his belly. His cub was safe, was with pack and he, he was ready for breeding. That was all that mattered with the moon so close. His head felt giddy. His heart was pounding, his cock hard. He needed... _something._

 

A soft growl sounded close by and Harry's eyes that he didn't remember closing flew open. He darted forward, flying through the thicket of bushes surrounding the mountain side and into the trees. The wind picked up, rushing against his ears and through his hair, bringing with it his alpha's scent, thick, musky and hot, heavy with fertility. Ready. Harry cried out as he caught sight of him, giving his mate just enough warning to turn before Harry leapt at him, smashing their lips together and digging fingers into that still human looking hair.

 

The tongue met him ravenously, sliding over his with open-mouthed kisses and devouring him with snarls, trailing over his jaw, the marked side of his throat. Harry groaned, rocking his hips forward into Fenrir's naked ones. His mate's hands slid down his back, cupping his arse through his cloak and squeezing. “Fuck me,” he managed, voice raspy and hoarse, unlike his own. The moon was so close he was shaking with it. His cock leaked messily against his belly. “Fill me.”

 

“Breed you?” Fenrir's voice rumbled against his neck, biting gently, worrying his collarbone between teeth and then soothing the subtle sting with his tongue. Harry rose up onto his toes, tilting his head back to draw more of those hot kisses to him. He hurriedly shrugged off his cloak and hissed at the rightness of his mate's flesh against his own. They moulded together, arms wrapped around each other with the desperation to say all the things their words could not this close to...everything.

As Fenrir had suspected and told him, if he wanted this, the moon would eradicate his other concerns. It would not make him want something or do anything he didn't desire, but it would dull any apprehension, uncertainty, 'should haves' or 'might do's. There was only instinct and desire here, running through Harry like a fire, so beautiful and overwhelming and...

 

“Oh, God – fuck me!” Harry snarled, dragging blunt nails down Fenrir's back until the man groaned around his nipple, catching the nub between his teeth and taunting it with the tip of his tongue. Harry seized the man's cock, angling it up so he could press his own against it, ready, damp with the evidence of it.

 

Then Fenrir grunted with barely there control, gripping Harry's shoulders and holding him at arm's length. His eyes were burning gold in the barely there light. Clouds furled overhead and would obscure most of the stars but the moon was just there, nearly there. The sun just had to set fully. “Got an idea,” Fenrir muttered, voice almost completely unintelligible now.

 

Harry could tell by the look in those eyes, by the feelings radiating off him what he meant by that. Whatever he was thinking would make it easier. Harry nodded urgently, not caring just needing.

 

Fenrir urged him onto his back on his cloak, both of their bodies almost glowing with the lingering light. “Got to be quick.”

 

Harry would’ve laughed at that and probably teased if he’d had control of his mind, as it was, quicker sounded very good right now. He nodded again, spreading his legs and tilting his head to he could look down at Fenrir. The man grumbled in appreciation, catching him behind the knees and forcing them up to his chest. Harry cried out, loving the stretch and only just registering it before he felt a frantic, greedy mouth at his naturally damp entrance. Devouring all of him.

 

A sharp, ragged whine left his lips and he reached down, scrabbling to grasp Fenrir’s neck, hold him close, urge him deeper. That mouth teased the furl of his soft ring, pointed tongue circling, circling, circling, flicking at the centre then circling again until Harry was panting and his body opened. The tongue pushed in, coaxing more naturally lubricating fluid forth and teasing at his tender insides before drawing back.

 

Quickly, he’d said, but words were lost now and Harry growled in frustration. A low, wolfish chuckle dusted against his leaking entrance and then two fingers were against his hole, sinking into him like he was butter, melting him like it too. He clenched around them, holding his own knees so Fenrir could have better access. The two sank to the knuckle then withdrew cruelly. Harry tipped his head back as four replaced them, spreading him deliciously and at the same time as a hot, voracious mouth brushed against his needy cock.

 

“Mmmm,” Fenrir breathed against his cock, smelling it appreciatively, nose brushing the sensitive spot just under the head. His free hand caught the shaft, thumb tugging his foreskin away so he could circle the underside of the head, taste every musky inch of him and tease at the fluid gathering and spilling steadily from the slit. “Leaking for me everywhere,” Fenrir grumbled, fangs _just_ worrying the vein he knew Harry liked, head dipping down so he could press against his perineum with his nose, then up again to suck on tight bollocks.

 

The four fingers had sunk in to the knuckles now, wet and sliding so easily in and out, with a little burn that only made the pleasure hotter. Harry squirmed, working his hips back into the delicious width of those fingers, dirty sounds making his body tingle wantonly. His cock was secondary right now. Fenrir’s fingers had found that place that made him feel as if he were a volcano on the brink of eruption. Everything was so hot, so dizzying. He might scream. He thought he did because a rush of birds bolted from the trees and filled the sky but he didn’t care. Even as their shadows drifted over them both there on the ground he jerked his body to draw every thrust of those fingers against the place that made his entire head spin. Close. So close.

 

That mouth sucked his cock in then, sliding in all the way and when Harry glanced down those eyes were straining to watch him as Fenrir sucked and near-enough fisted him into maddening ecstasy. “More,” Harry cried out, only just finding the right word.

 

“Later,” Fenrir muttered as he drew back, a line of spit and pre-come connecting him to Harry’s cock. “Come now.”

 

Harry shook his head. He pushed hard at Fenrir’s shoulders and they both rolled over into the dirt, Harry astride him. No time wasted, a panting, sweat-slicked Harry sank back onto Fenrir’s hard, ready cock and groaned aloud, tipping his head back and letting his body drive him, canting readily, grinding into Fenrir in a frantic, heady rhythm. He didn’t think he drew a breath for the entire time he rode him. He felt a thick, callous fist, slick with his own juices jerk his cock, felt his mate’s erection swell impossibly inside and it was like an inevitable eruption.

 

A low, growling cry rushed out of him, long, piercing and continuing as he fucked himself ruthlessly on Fenrir’s cock. He drove his own orgasm out of himself, splattering Fenrir with it and not stopping until his own erection was soft in Fenrir’s hand.

 

Both of them sticky and panting, Harry kept his eyes shut as little flashes went off behind them and tried to just breathe, not even protesting when Fenrir urged him back onto the fur. He purred almost as he sniffed and licked at Harry’s neck, his chest, stomach, licking his cock and groin clean thoroughly and nudging between his legs to lap at the fluid still leaking.

 

Only when Fenrir urged him onto his hands and knees and knelt behind him did Harry realise Fenrir was still hard, the slick length of his cock nestled between his cheeks as he leant over Harry’s back and inhaled at the back of his neck for a moment as he tried to gather himself. “If...if you change your mind,” Fenrir forced out, teeth clashing together clumsily as the moon made them lengthen. “Stop me.”

 

Harry blinked, his mind taking a second to catch up, as fogged as it was with lust. “Mmmm,” he said dazedly, but the fingers that had been caressing his shoulders squeezed tighter and he knew he had to answer. “Yes.”

 

A low, deep purr of a growl was his only answer. He could feel Fenrir's eyes slide over him, admiring, wanting. Then those hands on his shoulders slipped back, sweeping the light speckle of sweat over his back and down to his cheeks, which Fenrir squeezed then spread. “Mine,” he grunted in approval at the open, pink orifice and then winced, shrinking back. The moon was here.

 

Harry crawled forwards and out of the way, not because he was afraid but because he knew that's what he had to do when his mate transformed. He glanced around, fidgety and impatient as the sun vanished and the moon surged. His breath came so quickly it felt like he was hyperventilating. Bones and cartilage cracked, groaned, grew and locked into place and fur erupted across his mate’s flesh. Harry leant back against a tree, fingers digging into it as he watched, impatient and eager until finally a silver wolf rose from its crouched position, fur glistening in the flickers of moonlight that had managed to escape the clouds and barrier of the treetops.

 

Heavy paws shifted on the leaves as the wolf stepped forwards, sniffing heavily, eyes glowing. He slunk forwards, ears pricked, tail erect and wagging slightly, eager, happy. Harry knew he smelt right, fertile ready and he knew the wolf was testing him, trying to gauge if his mind was as ready as his body. This time though, when Harry surrendered, it wouldn't be to let some humans escape or as a trick.

 

The wolf was in front of him now, sniffing at his throat; snuffling and then he circled the tree and Harry all at once, tail still wagging. When Harry didn't move, he paused, lifting his head and letting his mouth open slightly as if in reassurance. Harry released a soft laugh and slid his fingers into thick silver fur, massaging the base of those ears as he leant heavily against the wolf. The smell of that fur and the fresh air under the moon, it felt so perfect. He whined softly and dug his fingers deeper into the fur, standing closer until he was pressed against the wolf's flank.

 

The wolf gave a soft rumble of a growl and butted against Harry, licking at his belly. Harry shuddered as the breeze nipped at the stripe of damp skin. Those eyes were burning gold, mischievous and Harry knew what he wanted. What both of them needed. There was a lingering prickle of uncertainty left over of his humanity as he stepped back but as he turned and bolted into the trees, he felt the January wind rush through his ears and blow it away.

 

His legs were a bit unsteady after the fucking he’d just had but he found his feet soon enough. The ground was soft and spongy under his feet. He grinned as he flew across it, brushing his hands and sides against bushes and trees as he past, glancing back over his shoulder to see a flicker of silver darting after him. Exhilaration flooded his senses so he was nothing but pounding heart and rush of adrenaline, bliss and freedom.

 

The moon broke free of the clouds again and poured down over their private world made just for the two of them and nothing, no human or werewolf distraction or contradiction existed. He heard his mate howl and the sound made him shiver. He yipped back and dashed through the shallow branch of stream he came across. It washed over his toes, cool and fluid against his hot skin.

 

Suddenly, another howl sounded and when he turned, he saw his wolf standing there, tail high, Harry's cloak in his mouth. He dropped it to the ground and pawed at it. Somewhere at the back of his mind Harry heard Fenrir whispering how it would be different this time and when he awoke with his mind in control instead of his instincts, he'd be startled at how right he was. Somehow, the wolf was trying to appease his lingering uncertainty, as if he remembered the last time. Perhaps he did.

 

Harry watched as the massive paw spread the cloak out, then the wolf slid back, laying down with head high and watching, eager eyes bright. The moon was so bright that his fur looked almost ethereal in the silver-kissed surroundings, the night blooming jasmines pure white all around the riverbank. Harry glanced down at his toes once more and shivered, before slowly approaching the place the fur had been laid out for him.

 

Holding that golden gaze, he lowered himself to his knees on it, seeing that tail wag again, seeing the wolf fidget but otherwise remain still. Harry knew somehow what he wanted, what he was waiting for. Certainty. Moistening his dry lips with a flicker of his tongue, Harry eased back until he was sprawled backward on his elbows and his face heated as he spread his legs. Bypassing his soft, sated cock, he circled a finger around his entrance that was still soft and puckered, ready without anything more.

 

He wasn’t aroused now but he wasn’t afraid either. He held that gaze and knew all at once that if he could do this it would fill the ache that had been building inside over the last year or so. Fenrir too. He drew his hand back and waited but nothing happened. With a frown, he cocked his head and glanced down, realising that Fenrir was waiting. Stretching his toes out, he brushed Fenrir’s muzzle with them coaxingly, laughing roughly when the wolf lapped and nipped at them. Yes, this was so different and his lack of arousal made it even easier somehow. Perhaps that had been Fenrir’s idea.

 

Rolling onto his hands and knees, Harry fidgeted as the silver wolf sniffed at his waiting entrance, before covering Harry’s back. Paws with claws tucked away gripped his sides and Harry grasped the fur to brace himself on instinct as he felt something wet, slightly pointed and huge prodding at him. Harry tensed just a little and teeth gripped him softly at the back of his neck, letting the tension drain from him like a newborn cub.

 

The wolf gave a grunt around his neck and jerked inward, burying himself the first few inches in one gloriously slick push. Harry let out a low, never-ending groan at the overwhelming shock of it. It was huge and he’d forgotten the feeling of being filled to his throat, of being fucked with an electric pulse that swelled hotter and thicker the more he pushed.

 

Fenrir shifted, sliding deeper and Harry cried out but bore back into it, wanting completion. His own cock was still soft but the type of warmth that filled him was almost more encompassing than lust. It was like those times he’d woken up in the middle of the night to sleepy sex and drifted off before he’d even come. It was like having callous hands massaging him, washing him. It was intimacy without the urgency of orgasm. Like someone had once tried to explain to him, this kind of mating was for conceiving cubs not for sexual gratification, though that could sometimes accompany it. But it was that, the _perverse_ arousal that he’d found so demeaning in his human mind. Now, without it present he could just kneel and rock gently back into the silver wolf and breathe and relax. This was right.

 

He still whined softly as he was filled to the brim and his raw, stretched hole was pushed against the sheath that still contained the knot. The teeth at his neck released him, banishing the tiny marks left with a flicker of tongue and letting Harry’s upper body sag and press into the fur. He nuzzled into the fabric, smelling his mate everywhere and shifted his legs wider.

 

The ritual push-pull dance of their instincts began. Fenrir huffed appreciatively and then the legs wrapped around Harry tightened, hind legs flexing and dragging that impossible hardness back until only the pointed tip remained and Harry felt completely empty. He panted, waiting and then he was filled again. Slick, thick, deep. In and out. He circled his hips to welcome his mate deeper, just because he wanted the closeness. That delectable stretch was just the top of the crescendo of sensation and he whined needily through it all.

 

“Fill me,” he managed, voice straining through animalistic roughness. “Please.”

 

A thick tongue lapped at his head, making his hair stick up and Harry laughed, groaned and growled all at once. He pushed back into the frantic undulations of the wolf behind him, his buttocks sore and hole squeezing tightly around the base as the knot began to push against him. It was glorious. He could feel it pulsing, sending electrical flickers all over the most sensitive spots inside him as every nerve was set alight with sensation. He squeezed his eyes shut as it made him shudder with it, as the knot began to push against the remaining resistance of his slick, stuffed opening.

 

Just then, a brush of movement and a screwing sensation in his guts made his eyes fly open. Fenrir had turned so he was facing away from him, his cock still buried deeply inside and their hips locked together as the wolf grinded down into him. Harry cried out at the burn. It was good. So good and he gripped the fur cloak again to bear it as it touched on pain.

 

Fenrir was panting hard, a fleck of spittle spraying Harry’s ankle as he pulled back enough to urge some of Harry’s natural fluids forth as lubricant, before sinking down again. The knot _just_ popped in and Harry’s entrance closed around it, holding onto it greedily. Fenrir howled, rutting into him relentlessly now, every move an electrifying jolt to Harry’s insides. They were tied, backsides together and Fenrir’s tail flicking out of the way, yet brushing the small of Harry’s back slightly.

 

At last, the wolf twitched a final time and Harry shuddered and stretched as fluid burst inside him, filling him steadily. He reached down, touching his tender stomach and swore he could feel it swelling a little. Rightness swept through him at the same time and he closed his eyes. Sore but content, he waited for the flow to taper off. It probably felt more than it was, perhaps it was the sheer size of the cock still buried in him but he felt bloated with it and the pressure on his stomach was starting to feel uncomfortable.

 

Fenrir shifted every now and then, testing the grip on him but Harry hissed, kicking ineffectually at Fenrir’s foreleg that stood beside his foot. When finally Fenrir was able to slip free, he turned and sniffed at Harry’s still raised posterior, then flopped down next to him. Harry hummed, wincing a little as he shifted his cramped legs out, sinking bonelessly to the ground and rolling into Fenrir’s side, pulling the fur cloak over him. That nose snuffled at his head and he let it as he drifted into exhausted sleep.

 

 

_To Be Continued…_


	3. Full Moon Magic

Sorry for the delayed update everyone! We had a powercut last night so I had no internet access :( Hope this chapter was worth the wait!

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Full Moon Magic

Chapter Three

It was the biting wintry breeze that woke him in the morning. Harry shivered himself awake and shifted on the bed of his fur. Blinking open sleep-heavy eyes, he squinted as the sun stung them and glanced around. That was why he had awoken cold then, the unnatural warmth of the moon heat had subsided as the sun rose and the protection of Fenrir's fur was gone. Sitting up a little straighter, Harry pulled a corner of the cloak he was stretched out on over his shoulders for warmth and watched, still in an instinct-induced haze as Fenrir crouched over a freshly blooming fire.

The man was as naked as the day he was born, damp from the stream and cooking fish over the flames. Harry shifted so he could use more of the fur to cover him, but the movement drew Fenrir's eyes to him. Somehow, Harry knew this was how it should have been the first time, what had been stolen from them before. They were both suspended in a cloudy, gentle world of just them and instincts and...intimacy. They didn't speak, as if the pull of the moon were still over them – no, something even stronger than that.

Fenrir gave him a meaningful, warm look and turned back to the fish, turning it on the skewer and using clean claws to pluck the single bone out of the centre. Freshwater Comfrey Rock, then, Harry's favourite fish that Fenrir had introduced him to when he'd been... _pregnant_ with Kirian, full of nutrients and natural magic and...delicious. Even as he approached Harry, Fenrir passed his hand over the flames to magically coax them higher and hotter. He said nothing, only passed the skewered fish to Harry carefully.

Harry blinked. This felt right. That was the only way he could describe it. It felt like the missing piece. He shifted closer to the fire and took the skewer, pulling a mouthful of fish off with his teeth and chewing. He groaned. So good. Fenrir smirked, crossing his legs and watching him as he ate. Harry looked back, chewing the hot meat carefully. When the fish was gone, Harry tossed the stick into the fire and leant over to the riverside to scoop cool, clear water into his mouth.

When he crawled back to the spot by the fire, Fenrir was laying on his side, head propped on one hand and Harry kept their gazes locked as he slid onto his back beside him, waiting. Calloused fingertips traced a few splashes of water that he'd accidentally flicked down his chin and throat and Harry swallowed, relaxing, turning his head to the side and just breathing. His body ached but in a good way. It was tingling almost, little pricks of heat that spiked more fiercely when Fenrir's hand splayed down his chest, his stomach and down to trace his still open hole.

Harry hissed at the pleasure-pain and saw those eyes darken with want, with appreciation and pride. He was still sticky and loose down there. The wolf had definitely done its job then. Harry felt his cheeks burn – instincts or no and curled his toes in the grass as he let Fenrir feel him. It was another instinctive thing that just felt right. When he gasped that gaze flicked to him questioningly, as if asking if he was alright, before pulling his fingers back, cleaning them and sliding them up under the cloak to rest on Harry's stomach.

Before he knew it, bristly, unshaven lips were tracing the flat, hard shape of his abdomen, sniffing, scenting, kissing. Harry gave a huff of ticklish amusement and slid his fingers through Fenrir's hair, closing his eyes as the sun settled over them through the canopy of trees, warming him. Clearing his throat, Harry managed to find his voice. “Did it work?” he asked, voice slightly roughened from sleep and from inappropriate use the night before.

Fenrir mumbled against his stomach as he sniffed, passing his lips over and over the light muscle. Then he tipped his head up to look at Harry from under dishevelled hair. “I must be all man, two goes and two cubs.”

 

Harry's eyes widened, his breath stopping momentarily as his fingers slid up Fenrir's neck. It had worked. It had really worked. He pinched Fenrir's neck. “You're disgusting,” he laughed hoarsely, leaning his head back against the warm grass. Fenrir must have kept the area he was sleeping in magically heated because it was still winter and he felt comfortable, safe and (until the fire had risen) only a little chilly.

 

“A virile old bastard you've caught yourself, Harry James Potter,” Fenrir smirked, crawling up Harry’s body until he completely covered him. He brushed his knuckles against Harry's throat and jaw as he always did, their mouths almost touching.

 

Harry laughed, slapping the man's bare arse in mock reprimand before letting his hands slide up his sides. “I did some of the work,” he said, but he was smiling, eyes closed, relief and happiness filling him until he was sure he'd burst with it. It felt warmer than the sunshine bathing them. He felt almost nauseous with it. He gripped Fenrir's ribs, grazing them with his blunt nails and feeling his mate shiver at the ticklish sensation. Harry's smile widened.

 

“It really worked? You can tell just by smelling me?” he asked.

 

Fenrir huffed, turning his head to graze his mouth against Harry's jaw. “It's subtle, but yeah, I can smell it, just like I smelled it the first time. It's only a slight shift in your usual scent. Most wolves will be able to. Kirian will probably even sense it, though he won't know what it means.”

 

“Wouldn't be too sure of that,” Harry said, blinking up at Fenrir as the man drew back to look at him. Harry moistened his lips before elaborating. “I asked him what he thought of a brother or sister, pretty much. Well, I have it on very good authority that a sister would not be appreciated.”

 

With a chuckle, Fenrir rolled onto his side to regard Harry affectionately. “I thought that too and said as much when my parents had the triplets. He’ll love either. It's an equal chance either way, as I understand it.”

 

Harry snorted. He loved this teasing, amused Fenrir. He hadn't realised how long he had been missing it. Was it all because he wanted another child so much and was afraid Harry didn't want the same? Harry let his hand slide down to his unchanged stomach. Kirian had been the little miracle that helped him save the Wizarding World, save Fenrir and himself. This little one, it would heal so many wounds. He wasn't blind enough to think it wouldn't be hard work – he'd raised Kirian after all. But to finally have it there, to know that this time they'd get to have everything they couldn't before...

 

“Like you loved your sister?” Harry asked softly. Fenrir's eyes flickered. Not guardedly as they did sometimes when speaking of his family, but uncertainly. As if he was hesitant to sully this beautiful morning with grief. Those eyes held his and one of Fenrir's hands covered his on his stomach. Harry tilted his head so he could stare up at him, the man's head supported on his hand. “Tell me,” Harry said.

 

With a sigh, Fenrir looked down to where their hands rested over Harry's stomach and let his fingers settle between Harry's own. “My parents weren't as lucky as us,” Fenrir began at last, voice low, not lifting his eyes again. “After me, my dad couldn't get pregnant. Not right away anyway. No one knew why, it was just one of those things. They tried for ages but it never really...” He paused for a moment, as if lost in the memories. “I was a little shit, I'm sure. I didn't want any siblings. I s'pose I was happy having all the attention to myself. Then eventually when I was about six my parents had the triplets and of course, naturally they demanded attention from everyone.” He rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky. Harry shifted closer so he could rest his head on the man's shoulder, pressed tight to his side.

 

“All they did was cry and shit and vomit everywhere. Especially Louden, he was a little prick. He wouldn't shut up unless he was being held – hated being put down and Lyall just didn't stop vomiting, literally everything he ate, colic or something I think they called it. They were identical pains in my arse and I hated them.”

 

Harry thought he could hear some of the put out six-year-old in that voice then and he smiled in spite of himself. Not only because of that, but because Fenrir was talking about them, really talking.

 

“Llora was different,” Fenrir continued, “she was so quiet and patient, so when my parents had their hands full of the other two it was left to me to look after her and she was...perfect.”

 

Harry beamed closing his eyes as he listened.

 

“She really took to me; I suppose that helped. I'd seen other pack cubs obviously but she was the best one I'd seen. I started being less of a cock and helped out a bit more after that, the triplets never stopped. And the boys weren't so bad once they started crawling – more fun. Llora used to dominate the pair of them. I think she might've been alpha after me, if she'd lived. They had Wolfram a few years after that and he was so small and dependant on everyone. He never really grew out of it...”

 

Sliding an arm over Fenrir's stomach, Harry tried to think of something to say, anything that would be deemed appropriate. Somehow he thought Fenrir's loss was even worse than his own because he had such clear memories of the family that had been ripped away right before his eyes. Harry didn't remember his parents as such, just the idea of them, the warmth, the longing, the absence. It hurt, it ached but to remember it all so clearly and to lose everything so tragically at such a young age...

 

“Did you like being a big brother?”

 

Fenrir snorted. “All four of them used to follow me round like ducklings. They all thought they were quicker, smarter, _braver_ than they were.” His hand slid up to cover Harry's. “Yeah, I did. I used to complain that I had to babysit them all the time but I liked...”

 

Harry lifted his head when Fenrir stopped and looked at his face. Those eyes were still avoiding him. “Fenrir?” he asked.

 

“I liked having them to look after,” he murmured, softly, as if he hoped Harry wouldn't hear him. Harry cocked his head a little with a sad smile, sliding his fingers up to graze at the man's bristly jaw. He liked the feel of it under his blunt nails.

 

“You think if Kirian has a few siblings that will somehow be more... _right_ , like a second chance?” he asked haltingly, hoping Fenrir understood what he meant. Because Fenrir had never gotten to see his siblings grow up, he wanted to see Kirian thriving with his own siblings. It wouldn't fix what was lost but Harry thought it was part of the reason he wanted more children so badly.

 

“I suppose that's some of it,” Fenrir replied in his thoughtful, gruff voice, finally meeting Harry's eyes.

 

“I don't know about five,” Harry warned, only partly teasing. Last night had been...different to before, not traumatising like the first time and not unwanted, but it still filled him with an uncertain squishy feeling in his gut to remember how he'd had sex with a werewolf. It still felt wrong somehow, he didn't think that would ever go away. But it wasn't horrifying, it hadn't triggered anything unwanted inside him and if it had worked then it was worth it.

 

Fenrir snorted. “How about three?”

 

“That only leaves you one leg to stand on,” Harry mused, relaxed and still a bit sleepy and warm. He smirked at the image of having to hop on one foot while holding three children at bay with the remaining one and both hands. Then he thought of something. “You've thought about it before, haven't you?”

 

“That would be telling,” Fenrir murmured, resting his chin on Harry's head when it laid back down on his chest. It felt nice, Harry thought. These were the moments he treasured, just laying there peacefully with Fenrir. Like the sleepy mornings or nights sprawled across the furs with Kirian slumbering soundly between them. His chest drew in tight then. He hadn't been apart from Kirian for this long before and he hadn't been apart from him for an entire night. Not ever.

 

“I hope he's alright,” he whispered, feeling all his anxieties and tension came flooding back. Fenrir brushed a hand through the hair at the back of his head and held him close.

 

“Larentia has watched him for us before, he'll be alright.”

 

Harry closed his eyes again so Fenrir, even though he knew that was a pitiful shield to his emotions where Fenrir was concerned. “Never this long,” he murmured. “Never on the full moon...”

 

“Harry,” Fenrir began, his tone cautious, “Kirian is safe. You know he is–”

 

“There was a breech in the wards before,” Harry began, but the fingers not locked on his hair gripped his hip, thumb sliding into the hollow just inside.

 

“You know that was only a one time–”

 

“But it could happen,” Harry said, sitting up sharply, enough so he could look down at Fenrir's face. “Anything could happen. So many things hit me when I thought I was safe, Fenrir. So many things could happen to him and no one can keep him safe better than me.” He cringed at how that sounded, but he knew Fenrir understood – probably better than he understood himself.

 

Those large, rough fingers cupped his face and neck, grounding him his momentary panic and not allowing him to look away. When he spoke the voice was coarse but the blue eyes were soft and warm. “You walked away from him when you faced _Targarletum,_ thinking you were going to die but you didn't, Harry. You're here. You're both safe and you're here. I had to learn that I couldn't stop you from going the places you wanted to go just because I worried–”

 

“Still have to learn a bit m–”

 

“And _you_ need to realise, you can't stop Kirian either. It's fine now he's four and as clingy as a limpet but he'll grow and if you don't let him you'll suffocate him just like you said I suffocated you back when this all first started.”

 

Harry flinched. “Don't tell me how to treat my own son,” he began defensively, but the thumbs on his cheeks stroked gently, coaxing his gaze back.

 

“What if he gets a letter to that bloody school seven years from now?” Fenrir demanded.

 

Harry felt sick at the thought. Even though Hogwarts had been everything to him, still meant so much even now. He sat back on his heels and Fenrir let him, propping himself up on his elbows as he watched Harry pull the cloak around him properly. “I know,” he murmured through gritted teeth, annoyed at how much sense that made. Hating it. “I know I do just...not yet. Not now.”

 

Stretching out in the grass, Fenrir gave him a final knowing look before making his way to the stream. The water must've been cold but Harry watched as Fenrir gave only a perfunctory shudder before washing himself quickly. Harry cast a hasty cleaning charm over himself, not brave enough to face the water this early in the year. Not when magic would take care of things until he got back to the den.

 

“I just...things aren't so easy to get over, that night...” Harry began falteringly.

 

“You don't have to explain anything to me, Harry,” Fenrir said, turning where he stood, now waist deep in the water.

 

Harry shifted forward, so his legs could hang off the jut of the river. His legs tingled as they slid into the rushing cold water – not as icy as he would've imagined but cool enough to make him shiver. He fastened the cloak round his shoulders and watched as Fenrir slid closer. “Tell me about your parents?” he asked, just needing to know more. Fenrir stopped in front of him, reaching for the clasp of the cloak that held it completely shut around Harry's body and flicking it open so that the fabric fell to the grass.

 

Shuddering slightly, Harry remained otherwise still, holding that gaze and feeling slightly roughened fingertips sliding over his shoulders.

 

“In a minute,” Fenrir said distractedly, “after.”

Harry frowned. “After what?” That devilish grin was his only answer, before Fenrir seized his shoulders more tightly and pulled him forward so they both flew backward into the river with a crash. Laughing, spluttering and swearing all at once as they surfaced, Harry swatted at the water, satisfied when it slapped into Fenrir's face enough to make him squint and rub at his eyes. Harry swam backward toward the middle of the stream and swept a hand over his face to brush his soaked hair out of his eyes, glad for the charm on his glasses to keep them in place on his head and clear of water, smears and condensation.

 

Fenrir swam forward to follow him, face alight with playfulness and delight, bringing with it the ease they'd awoken to this morning. Harry was glad of it, so glad he let Fenrir wrap his arms round him under the water and kiss him.

 

 

Sometime later, dry and clean, they eventually found their way back to the tunnels. Harry closed the cloak around him gratefully as the chill nipped at his skin in the cool labyrinth. They were close to the gate now and he was trying to make his damp hair lie flat as they walked. Draco was sure to make a comment about 'just-fucked' hair...

 

“It's so...unnerving, knowing they'll all know I'm... _pregnant_ the second they smell me,” Harry said with a wince. “It's bad enough they can all smell it when we have sex.”

 

Fenrir chuckled. “You're the only one that's squeamish about it all – except Draco, probably. “You don't have to be embarrassed.” Fenrir himself, however, was wearing such a pleased expression that Harry just _knew..._

 

“You _like_ that it embarrasses me though, don't you?” he said. “It turns you on, doesn't it?” His only answer was Fenrir's smirk. Harry thumped him hard with an elbow as they walked, without any real annoyance but with a very real tinge to his cheeks. “Pervert.”

 

Draco was the one who came to open the gates for them and sure enough he flashed Harry a knowing grin as they walked toward the stone circle where breakfast was still going on. Harry's stomach grumbled eagerly at the smell of bacon, sausage and eggs. The fish had been delicious but, there was always room for seconds. He was growing another life now, after all.

 

“Have fun?” Draco asked, eyebrows quirked.

 

Harry glared. “If there are any dog lover jokes,” he warned, only to see Draco's smirk.

 

“You are a prude, aren't you? I was just asking,” Draco said lightly. Before they could needle each other any further, Larentia came into view, Kirian's hand clasped in hers as they approached. They stopped. Kirian looked a little tired but alright, unharmed and Larentia seemed to be in her element. Harry studied his son's uncertain expression, watched his little nose twitch as he tested the slight scent change on the breeze. His head cocked to one side and he blinked at Harry and then Fenrir for a moment, before barreling towards them.

 

“Alpha! Daddy!” He cried out, flinging his arms round Harry as he all-but slammed into him, resting his head on Harry's stomach, the fur cloak brushing against his cheek. “Did it work?” Kirian asked eagerly, looking up at Harry and Fenrir as best he could without letting his death grip on Harry's thighs loosen. Fenrir was pulling on trousers that Larentia had handed him as she approached, a shirt and trousers draped over Larentia's arm for Harry, who was unable to extract himself from his son to take them at the moment. Fenrir glanced at Harry and then smoothed Kirian's wayward auburn locks back.

 

“It did, my boy. You're going to be a big brother,” Fenrir murmured, face and voice warm as he looked down at his son.

 

Kirian beamed, squeezing Harry tight and turning his head so his nose was practically pressed against Harry's stomach. “It's there? Doesn't look different.”

 

Harry laughed. “It'll grow. After a little while you might even be able to feel it,” Harry said softly, extracting his son's arms from round him so he could kneel and examine his face. It looked like some egg had made its way onto his cheek already but otherwise he was the same bright-eyed little boy he'd left the night before. Relief and comfort swept through his stomach at feeling him, seeing him right there. He knew he'd have to learn to give him some space, some freedom, but right now, with Kirian's little fingers digging into the fur cloak, grinning at him, he thought it was alright for them both to indulge.

 

“Were you a good boy for Larentia?” Harry asked and Kirian nodded seriously.

 

“It was a good moon – Vilkas found a mouse–”

 

“Let's have this conversation over breakfast,” Fenrir said, swinging Kirian up onto his shoulders and leading the way toward the stone circle.

 

Harry smiled at Kirian’s squeal of delight and took the clothes Larentia offered him gratefully, pulling them on as discreetly as he could.

 

“Congratulations,” she said warmly and Harry tilted his head to see her honest but thoughtful expression.

 

“I...thank you,” he replied, not knowing what else to say. She'd bloomed so beautifully since Kirian had been born, but he knew the bone-deep yearning for what she could never have would always be there.

 

As if sensing his thoughts, she smiled wryly. “Don't look at me like that,” she insisted lightly. “I'm happy for you both. I am. Besides, I'm still waiting for that someone who'll make it easier to forget.”

 

Harry gave a tight nod. “I wish I could do something to help you, that's all.” _It's not fair,_ he thought, almost instantly hearing Professor Snape's admonishment of _“life isn't fair.”_

 

“You help enough,” she promised, squeezing his shoulder before leaving his side to take her place in the circle. Harry sat down beside an excitedly chattering Kirian, who was asking Fenrir what they'd had to do to put the baby in there.

 

“It's full moon magic,” Fenrir said simply, filling a bowl with Harry's favourites before passing it to him. “A ritual you might say.”

 

Kirian's eyes went wide. The questions only kept coming. It was a good job they had a trip to Diagon Alley planned, that should distract him sufficiently. Harry ate his breakfast in quiet contentment, letting Fenrir deal with the awkward questions of youth...

 

*                       *                       *

 

The most invaluable advice anyone had ever given Harry was probably that of Professor Snape (of all people) on how to deal with the press. He gave them just enough to keep them satisfied and he was able to go out in public without being swamped. People still gave him a nod or a smile, some even insisted on clasping his hand and shaking it with both of theirs as they thanked him. Some did all of these things whilst crying. But that he could handle, that he could accept. That, he thought, would ensure he could never forget the sacrifices everyone had made.

 

 Kirian and Teddy loved Diagon Alley. Even if Kirian practically hugged his side as he walked, one hand clutching his blanket while the other clutched Harry's tightly. Teddy was the opposite, often trying to dash off ahead but they both practically dragged him along the street, eager to reach each shop.

 

 Perhaps they should have waited a few days for this trip, emotions were still always a bit flighty after the moon and Harry felt a little uneasy, protective over Kirian and Teddy and unsettled, unused to the thought of the new little life inside him. But the boys loved their forays into the wizarding world so much it was impossible to deny them. It was with a grin that he watched Teddy bound toward Fortescue's and Kirian tug urgently on his hand as he hurriedly followed, dragging Harry with him. 

 

 He was beyond relieved that living in the seclusion and safety of Shae and the Valley hadn't affected the boys' eagerness for the wizarding world's wonders. He could accept and understand Fenrir's reservations, but he wanted to share it with Kirian - it was a part of him, after all and he shouldn't grow up not understanding it like Harry had had to. 

 

 "Pink one," Kirian decided after a scrunching his face up in concentration, pointing to the Strawberry Sensation flavoured ice-cream. Teddy was already devouring his mint chocolate chip. Harry slid a hand absently, affectionately through his son's hair and nodded at Florean, counting the sickles and knuts up in his free hand. 

 

 "Ice cream in January?" Florean mused, taking the money and passing Harry his change. 

 

 "They don't feel the cold," Harry laughed, taking the hot chocolate for himself. "My one definitely doesn't anyway."

 

 In a perfect example of how accepted the werewolf curse had become in recent years, Florean smiled as he glanced down at Kirian, happily devouring his ice cream. "Takes after his father, eh?" he said with kind amusement.

 

 Prickling a little at the implication that Harry was the 'mother' - even though he was, Harry nodded after a moment's hesitation. 

 

 "He's shot up since last I saw you, I must say he looks a great deal like your mother, Mr Potter," Florean continued. "Is this your one too?"

 

 Harry glanced over just in time to see Teddy rubbing his head where he'd gotten a brain freeze from eating his ice cream too fast. At that moment, his mop of sandy hair turned icy blue. Kirian laughed, nearly choking on his own mouthful. "He's my godson," Harry said, rubbing Kirian's back until the coughing ceased. Things like this he could deal with with a sense of calm compose. He wasn't a completely neurotic parent. It was only when he couldn't reach him, when control was taken away, when circumstance forced him into that same mental state. He winced. And he was going to go to Hogwarts each day? Who was he kidding?

 

 The mountain of a barrier troubled him all the way through Diagon Alley, even as they stepped into Quality Quidditch Supplies and to his surprise, Kirian bolted from his side along with Teddy toward the _Cirrostratus Junior Brooms_ on display. Kirian was so shy sometimes, reserved and he wondered if his uncertainty was making that worse. Biting the inside of his mouth, he watched as Kirian and Teddy animatedly swooned over the model that was on the plinthe, marked with a sign that invited customers to try it. Kirian could be brave and excited and carefree. He wanted that for him. Wanted more of this, bright smiles and giddy laughter that wasn't touched by uncertainty whenever Harry wasn't by his side.

 

 Drawing in a breath of bravery, he glanced to Dean, who was the assistant on the floor today and said, "Ginny about today?" They'd been together three years now and as the Harpies’ best player, she was in here more often than not regardless of their relationship.

 

“Across the road, mate,” Dean said brightly, lifting the divider in the counter and stepping through onto the shop floor. “The twins are busy today, she's lending them a hand.”

 

Harry hesitated. He'd been counting on her presence, but then...Dean had been his friend since he was eleven and he was an honorary Weasley now as much as Harry...

 

“Mind if you watch the boys for me while I pop over and see them?” he asked, glancing to where Kirian and Teddy hadn't even noticed he wasn't standing beside them anymore. “I'll only be ten minutes.”

 

Dean blinked, surprised and Harry felt his cheeks colour a little, knowing that the 'teasing' remarks about his overprotective parenting were legendary among his close friends. Evidently realising his expression betrayed his thoughts, Dean hurried to reply, “Of course. No trouble,” and with that he made his way to the boys and began enthusiastically asking who'd be the first to try the broom. Harry's head stuttered in relief as he heard his boy declare excitedly that it had to be him. It was good, so good to hear.

 

Initiative, bravery, independence, the things Fenrir was always talking to him about. Kirian could do things without him and Harry had to encourage him to do so before it was too late. But how did he find the fine line between affection and coddling? He closed his eyes as he stepped out into the cobbled streets, light drizzle greeting his face and hair. Tipping his head skyward to meet it, he sighed, remembering his childhood, the loneliness and the shock when Hermione's arms had wrapped around him in his first hug of his memory...

 

Shaking the melancholy thoughts away, Harry pulled his cloak tighter round himself and let his hand ghost his flat stomach, before crossing the street to Weasley Wizard Wheezes. It was exceptionally busy for a week day and Harry couldn't find any of the Weasleys in the crowd within at first.

 

“Mr Potter!” An elderly man cried, reaching out with the hand not clasped around his young grand daughter's arm to grasp Harry's. Harry felt a frisson of unease ripple through him at the touch, so close to his very vulnerable stomach but found a smile for the man anyway. It wasn't his fault everyone did this when they saw him after all, or that Harry 's instincts were making him... _wobbly_.

 

“Hi,” Harry said amicably, shaking the man's hand.

 

“I expect you hear it all the time Mr Potter but thank you, thank you so much. It's such a pleasure to meet you,” the man said, shaking his hand for a moment longer before letting go. “We owe so much to you, Mr Potter.”

 

Harry continued to smile. “I wasn't alone, really. I wouldn't have got as far as I did without my friends.” He glanced around the shop, trying to spot a flash of red hair.

 

“So modest too,” the old man said warmly. “We haven't seen you in public since Christmas time.” 'We' meant the wizarding world courtesy of the press, Harry supposed. The man continued, “What great things can we expect from you this year?”

 

Harry considered the man and the little girl, watching him with wide, awed eyes. These people only saw the Boy Who Lived, he supposed, saw greatness and eagerly anticipated more. He dragged his fingers through the hair at the back of his neck awkwardly and sighed. “No greatness for me, I'm afraid. Just...enjoying life with my family. I've had more than enough adventure for this lifetime.” The disappointment was evident, but it was best really. He didn't want to be special or have to live up to their expectations. If he chose a career in the future, when Kirian and the little bump were older, it would be for him and no one else.

 

“I'm at a place in my life where I can dedicate myself to the family I've always wanted, I'm happy with that right now,” Harry said.

 

“Can I quote you on that, Harry?” A familiar, simpering voice intoned. Harry winced, gritting his teeth and turning to see Skeeter sashaying towards them. “You know I might think you were avoiding me, Harry. You always seem to give your exclusives to the Quibbler and Witch Weekly and my owl can never find you.” She brushed the feather of her quill at the underside of her chin. “Come now, Harry. We're old friends, surely you have some juicy news for us? I haven't managed to catch you since Mr Weasley became the youngest head Auror last year.”

 

Harry remembered. It'd been at a big party held at the Longbottom household to celebrate Ron's big promotion and Skeeter had managed to unfortunately catch Fenrir and press him for information on what the 'Wizarding World's Savior' was like in bed. It cheered Harry a little to remember her eyes flashing with fear as Fenrir had bared his teeth at her. Lifting his chin, Harry stared her defiantly in the face.

 

“You never learn, do you?” he asked coldly. “I have nothing to say to gossip mongers, especially one that wouldn't know the truth if it bit her in the–”

 

“Harry!” Ginny's bright voice called, her arm swinging round his shoulders as she came to his side. “I didn't know you were coming.” She beamed at him, then turned her beautiful false smile on Skeeter. “Here's a quote for you, Anita–”

 

“Rita,” Skeeter said icily.

 

Ginny beamed. “Of course, how silly of me. Anyway, Harry saved everyone. He dedicated his youth to doing that, he's entitled to live his life in peace now. No one has any right to expect anything from him.” With that, she steered Harry away from her and toward the safety of the space behind the front desk. “You can thank me for saving you later,” she said with a grin, pushing a cup of tea into his hands. “You know if you explode at her it'll only make things worse. Give her a line or two like you do the other reporters then make your way to safety.”

 

Harry sighed. “I know, it's just her. She gets me every time. She knows how to wind me up.”

 

“Dealing with an almost five-year-old and Fenrir Greyback hasn't taught you patience?” she teased, turning to serve one of the customers as she talked to him. “What're you in town for today?”

 

Harry sipped his tea, enjoying the warm buzz of the shop. It always felt like happiness in here, bright, excited and cheerful. Like a snow globe filled with laughter and toys. He loved it here. “Picking up a few bits for Vilkas so when he comes up in the summer for his school things he only has to worry about the exciting stuff. And I promised Kirian and Teddy a trip. It's weird you know, I wonder if my parents would've brought me here all the time if they'd lived. It feels...nice, to share this with him. He shares so much of the werewolf traditions with Fenrir so to be able to share my world with him is...”

 

He realised the woman Ginny was serving was listening and watched her face transform as she made the connection between his words and his face. She flushed. “Mr Potter! Oh, thank you, please, thank you so much...”

 

Harry braced himself and saw Ginny secretly rolling her eyes, but then...

 

“Thank you so much for standing for the bill for Werewolf Rights. My daughter was bitten at the beginning of the war and you've transformed her life!”

 

Harry hadn't been expecting that. He blinked stupidly as she grasped his hand and tears sprung to her eyes. “She is able to have a life now thanks to the hard work of yourself and Mr Lupin.”

 

“Remus does all the hard work; I just sort of...use my name. It helps with publicity.” He winced at how that sounded but the woman seemed unperturbed.

 

“He just stands there and looks pretty,” Ginny teased.

 

“Well whatever you do, it works. You're such an inspiration to her, Mr Potter. She even managed to get a job because of you – times have changed; prejudices have changed because of you.”

 

As the woman departed, Harry found his cheeks burning as Ginny regarded him. “I know we all tease you, but you really do touch peoples lives. Not just because of Voldemort.”

 

“Because I fell in love with Fenrir Greyback?” he suggested.

 

She tilted her head to the side, smiling fondly. “That and because you didn't let prejudices stop you from falling, from standing up for what you wanted. People gained courage from yours, from you daring to live the way you wanted instead of how everyone else thought you should.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Don't forget that.” With that, she glanced around to ensure there was no one within earshot and then murmured, “So when's this one due?”

 

Harry's eyes widened. “How did you...?”

 

“You flinched when I touched you earlier and you keep touching your stomach,” she said softly.

 

Harry went red.

 

“You weren't that obvious don't worry,” she said consolingly, “I just know you well enough.” She flicked him playfully on the shin with her foot. “I'll keep your secret. So? When?”

 

“End of June,” Harry whispered, “And I know it's stupid, with me going back to do the resit course and everything but–”

 

“Harry,” Ginny said sharply. “If you killed Voldemort then you can resit your NEWTs while pregnant. And honestly, I don't think you listened to a word I just said. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks, you're happy, right?”

 

A smile touched the corner of Harry's lips. “Yeah. Yeah I am. Feels like everything is falling into place.

 

She nodded. “Right, so as long as you're happy with the way your life is going...” She trailed off then, as if just realising something. “I thought you said Teddy and Kirian were with you?”

 

Harry laughed. “Delayed reaction. Yeah, I... I left them with Dean for a few minutes.” He glanced to the clock on the wall. “Have to be getting back really.”

 

Ginny was watching him with raised eyebrows as he downed the rest of his tea and made his way back round the counter. “You really are pushing for changes aren't you?” she asked thoughtfully. “Harry, Kirian is a lovely boy and you're a wonderful dad. Don't fret so much, alright?” She poked him hard in between his eyebrows. “You'll get premature wrinkles.”

 

Harry carried her teasing smile and the reassurance it filled him with all the way back to Quality Quidditch supplies, only to find Kirian riding the _Cirrostratus_ about two feet off the ground in whipping circles, squealing with delight. Harry leant against the door frame and observed his unrestrained joy and laughter. Fenrir sometimes confessed he worried that Kirian would lack independence as he grew because of the way he clung to Harry, but he looked just as free and happy as any other child. He would be fine, Harry thought, relieved that his experiment hadn't ended in disaster. It would be easier to convince the wolf in him to step away next time.

 

_Baby steps,_ the voice that sounded very much like Hermione whispered in his head. _We'll get there in the end._

 

*                       *                       *

 

Harry stretched out in the bed slowly, groaning as Fenrir slid out of him, his large hand smoothing across Harry's belly as he spooned against his back. “Was that really necessary?” he asked breathlessly, though amusement touched his words, “you hardly needed to reassert your claim. No one is going to molest me at Hogwarts.”

 

Fenrir snorted, nuzzling his nose into Harry's hair and stroking his stomach. “Fucking you is always necessary,” he murmured affectionately, “I can't wait 'til the baby gets bigger. I love seeing you full of me.”

 

Harry flushed. “Pervert, I happen to hate looking like I've swallowed a quaffle,” he complained, even though the rough, warm sound of Fenrir's desire made his spent cock twitch. He squirmed, wondering if it'd be better to have a quick bath or use a spell to clean himself before his first day.

 

As if reading his mind, Fenrir said, “Keep my scent on you, it'll help.”

 

With a wince, Harry banished the unwanted fluids from him and turned in Fenrir's arms to look at him. It felt nice in this bed of furs, right, warm, safe. Nervousness of today had been creeping up on him slowly and now his stomach was tense with anticipation of the day ahead. It'd be so much easier just to stay here in their bubble. He pressed his nose to Fenrir's throat and just breathed. “Help with what?” he murmured softly.

 

“Your...instincts,” Fenrir mumbled, “you'll be on edge being around so many potential threats with the cub. This should make it easier.”

 

Harry lifted his head with a raised brow to regard Fenrir. “Ah, so it was purely for my benefit, was it?” he mused.

 

Fenrir smirked. “A man's got to do his duty, it's difficult sometimes but...”

 

Harry slapped his arm and reluctantly tore himself from bed. “I've got to get ready. I still have to take Kirian to Eithne before I floo to McGonagall's office.” As he cast a hasty cleaning charm and then starting dressing himself, he caught sight of Fenrir watching him with his head propped up on one hand. "What?" Harry asked cautiously, feeling the uncertainty radiating from him to mix with his own.

 

 Fenrir shook his head fractionally. "Just tell me, are you doing this because you have something to prove or because this is what you want?" 

 Hesitating, Harry concentrated harder than he needed to on his plain white shirt and then approached the bed. Fenrir's hand reached out to stroke the back of his thigh affectionately.

 

 "Bit of both," Harry admitted. "I want to make my mum and dad proud, I want to prove that Voldemort didn't win, that I can still get the marks I was meant to get and... Well, I want to do something for me too. I miss Hogwarts and I won't be barefoot and pregnant or chasing around after toddlers forever. When my kids are grown and don't need me anymore I want to do something worthwhile."

 

 Fenrir's lips quirked and Harry shuddered at the soft wave of pride that tickled his senses. "You said pregnant," he mused.

 

 Harry scowled and his cheeks burned but Fenrir was right, he had said it without thinking. As if it'd come naturally. "Either way," he said, avoiding that particular issue. "It's what I want. I need this, Fenrir." He sighed, leaning in and pressing their foreheads together, eyes closed. "Don't worry about me so much. I've survived a lot worse than school." 

 Fenrir snorted. 

 "And you're sure you'll be able to leave Kirian?" he asked carefully. If Harry weren't fully aware that Fenrir could sense his growing unease, he would have accused him of having no faith in him.

  "Only one way to find out," Harry said, squeezing his mate's shoulder before heading into Kirian's room.

 

"Where are you going?" Kirian asked cautiously as Harry lowered himself to his knees in front of the boy in Eithne's living room. The old woman watched fondly from her seat in the nearby armchair and Harry gave her a reassuring smile before grasping Kirian's shoulders. 

 

 "I'm going to school, remember we talked about this?" Harry tried. Kirian worried the corner of his blanket uncertainly. Harry flicked at the underneath of his chin with his middle knuckle, the way Fenrir sometimes did to him. "Just for a few hours each weekday, then I'll come and pick you up. And you'll be with Eithne the whole time. She'll look after you."

 

 Kirian glanced to Eithne, who Harry knew he adored, but then Kirian leant in, pressing his forehead into Harry's. "Who'll look after you?" he murmured, his face torn with anxiety.  

 Harry smiled. "Kiri," he murmured, stroking the back of the boy's head. "Snape'll look after me," he said then, hitting inspiration. To Severus' shock, Kirian was fascinated by him. True to form, he perked up at that and then glancing at Eithne, he wrapped his arms round Harry's neck.  

 Something clenched and twisted in Harry's chest. He felt lost for breath and as if he might be sick at the same time. He closed his eyes, squeezing Kirian tight and turning his head to nudge against his neck. "Be a good boy for me, yeah?" he murmured and after a moment, there was a soft nod into his neck. Harry's instincts roared in negation, trying to freeze his limbs screaming to pull his cub close and do away with human needs interfering. But this wasn't just about his identity and the fine balance he kept between wolf and human, it was about Kirian's future balance as well.

 

Slowly he forced himself to stand, quashing the howling wolf in his guts and making his way to the floo.

 

 

He was breathing hard as he tumbled out of it into McGonagall's office, only just catching himself on the chair before the fire. McGonagall was sitting at her desk, watching him with a warm smile as he dusted himself off, breathing hard and feeling quite sick. The woman gestured to the cup of tea on the far side of the desk and Harry returned her smile, sipping gratefully at the peppermint scented liquid.   


 When at last his stomach settled, he put the cup down in the saucer and met her eyes.   


 "Welcome back, Mr Potter," she said lightly. "Are you ready to join your classmates? They are gathered in the Trophy Room ready for their induction."  
 

 Harry snatched a biscuit off the plate on the desk and held it up as if toasting his future. "Let's go," he said.

 

 

 There was a surprisingly varied age range in the thirty or so students waiting in the Trophy Room behind the Great Hall. Some were older than him, some were younger, a few like Romilda Vane, Millicent Bulstrode and Terry Boot he recognised by name as he slipped in, hoping that the question Filch had distracted McGonagall with would keep her busy long enough so that it didn't look like they'd arrived together. He didn't want any special treatment. By the look of the faces of his classmates and the soft whispering that broke out as he closed the door, he was in for a peculiar term as it was.

 

 Feeling self-conscious and uncharacteristically shy, he descended the steps to join them in the centre of the room, standing awkwardly on the edge of the group, unsure what to do. 

 

 "Harry!" A familiar voice called as a body pushed through the small crowd.

 

 Harry felt relief rush through him at the surprising sight of Katie Bell heading towards him. She beamed as she reached him.

 

 "I'd heard you might be coming from Ginny at Wheezes. I'm so glad to see you. it's wonderful, isn't it? This resit course? It just wasn't right for some of us right after the war, was it? And apparently this course will be offered to loads of people who failed their NEWTs before and need a second chance as well..." Her voice seemed to break the ice and the ripple of awe that had settled through the room. Everyone was talking again, almost normally and a few faces like Romilda and Terry drew closer to him.

 

 Harry relaxed. A lot had changed, yes, but he had never been a nervous wallflower. He'd always recklessly put himself out there without worrying what everyone else thought. He didn't want to let the nerves gnawing at him win over, just because he wasn't in his comfort zone, that wasn't who he was. _And you've always said you wanted balance between the wolf and the wizard._ This was just another test of that.

 

 All of a sudden, the door opened and McGonagall stepped in. The room fell silent. For a moment, Harry was dragged back to the time he'd first laid eyes on her. Her hair was almost white now and her face more lined but everything felt the same. He felt a little warmer at that. 

 

 "...You will arrive via the special floo connection set up in this room each morning - it is warded to accept only you through it in either direction," the woman was explaining. "I have here your schedules for the weeks to come. I realise it will be an... _adjustment_ for some of you, but I have every faith in your abilities. I will act as your liaison, if you have any questions. Of course your tutors will be happy to assist you as well. This is the first time we are running this course and we are determined to do everything we can to ensure its success - _your_ success. That success means that we might continue this for future generations."

 

 There were a few questions, a few measured responses from the Headmistress and then she stepped to the side of the door. "Please keep the lanyards with your passes on you at all times within the school grounds. You will take your lessons in the standard classrooms as written on your sheets. Do any of you need assistance in finding your way to Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom 3? No? Off you go then."

 

 

 The classroom that had seen so many professors now had the students’ desks arranged in a wide circle that dominated the room, leaving a huge space in the centre. The currently vacant teacher's desk had been pushed into one corner, yet drew the gaze of every student as they took their seats. Harry fiddled with his wand on the desktop as he waited. Terry and Romilda had taken seats either side of him and to his surprise Millicent seemed to have taken the one next to Terry. He didn't join in with the pleasant chatter they carried out around him but he felt included. His nerves abated a little. He fought the urge to lay a calming hand on his stomach. He doubted the baby could feel his nerves yet.

 

After a moment or so, the door to the office at the far side of the room opened and the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher surveyed them, before sweeping down the curved stairs and making their way into the centre of the circle formed by the desks. "Welcome, the first Adult Education Class in Hogwarts' history," greeted the brown haired woman. She was of average height but lithe, long-limbed and with hair that swept into her eyes. She must have been around thirty and at first glance Harry thought would look more fitting on a cover of Witch Weekly rather than in a Defence classroom.

 

Reminding himself sharply not to judge books by their cover (in a tone alarmingly similar to Hermione's) he sat up a little straighter and gave her his full attention as she wrote on the vast blackboard in contrastingly sharp, bohemian handwriting: _Professor Sabia_ _Fyerhyde._ The name prickled at the back of Harry's subconscious. It sounded familiar, though he couldn't place why – he'd never seen nor heard of her before, of that he was sure. As Fyerhyde scanned the class, he was sure that her gaze hesitated over him for the briefest of moments.

 

"...I have worked in the handling of dangerous creatures on behalf of the Ministry since I left Hogwarts myself when I was seventeen," Fyerhyde was explaining, turning slowly as she spoke to ensure she made eye contact with everyone. "I've some experience in curses and battles because of this and hope you'll find my experience beneficial." She drew her wand from her pocket and flicked it at the topmost book on her desk, drawing it toward her across the air.

 

Harry's skin prickled. Her magic, it wasn't like those of his classmate's. He felt it in the chair he sat in, in the ground underfoot. His eyes widened and he drew in a breath, hand resting on his stomach and eyes widening. Her gaze fell on him again and instantly he knew. The magic was surrounded by the scent, the feel of werewolf magic. She worked or lived in close proximity to werewolves – he just knew it. He wanted to slap himself for not realising sooner, but now she was watching him as she explained how they would revise the first 6 years' syllibus on the first few lessons before moving onto 'NEWT Exam' work and Harry knew that she knew.

 

He shifted in his seat, hand resting on his flat stomach as he looked vigilantly at the book in front of him, opening up to the page she spoke of. McGonagall and Snape couldn't have known or they would have warned him but at the same time, Fyerhyde had started two years ago, it couldn't be because of him that she was here. He swallowed, forcing himself to concentrate and calm the grumbling unease of the wolf within. She wasn't pack and that equated to enemy to a wolf, but he was also human and she was a teacher, one who'd done nothing more than recognise him.

_Stop seeing danger wherever you go,_ the voice like Hermione's hissed in annoyance in his head. _You're not the Chosen One anymore, just Harry Potter._

 

_Just Harry Potter,_ he told himself. _So suck it up and work..._

 

 

 

_To Be Continued…_


	4. Hogwarts and the Other Pack

Hogwarts and the Other Pack

Chapter Four

It was unsurprisingly a shock to get back to such strict formal education. These lessons were nothing like the ones Accalia gave at the den. Those were informative and useful but they also didn't carry the pressure that the classroom did. By the end of the hour and a half lesson, they already had to revise through the '1-6 Year Refresher' section for a test tomorrow and had an essay to write. He winced at the thought of trying to get homework done at the den. He'd have to use the reception room to hide in if he hoped to achieve anything.

 

The bell chimed and they began packing up. Intent on heading for Charms, Harry's insistent mantra that Fyerhyde wasn't interested in him in the slightest was shattered as she summoned him back from the others who piled out the door like youngsters. Harry hesitated, a little pulse of uncertainty licking at his throat. He swallowed, gripping the shoulder strap of his bag to ground himself to his mortal morals as he approached her, keeping a safe distance.

 

The wolf howled in his ears. He winced. "Thanks for an amazing first lesson," he said brightly, hoping he covered his unease. "I was worried it'd all go in one ear and out the other after so much time away from the classroom but you really made it stick."

 

Fyerhyde beamed. She had a bright face and her hazel eyes greeted him warmly. "It's different to teaching children for sure," she said, her dulcet voice breezing over him. "I'm glad it's working so well. I think this course will help so many people." She glanced at the door then, watching it close behind the last student and then looked at him, uncertainty prickling at her expression. "Mr Potter, forgive me, but I can't help but notice that you…you recognised me. What I am.”

 

Harry drew in a small breath. He needed to hide, protect his young, be as small as possible. He swallowed. “It was your magic really, it’s got a werewolf’s protection around it,” he said eventually.

 

She nodded. “My partner, he is a werewolf. I know the world’s opinion on werewolf kind has reformed thanks to you and Mr Lupin, but there are still prejudices against those that live as I do teaching children and if word got out I might-”

 

“It’s fine,” he said, smiling slightly. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

 

Her lips quirked, eyes flicking down to his stomach briefly. “As is yours.”

 

Harry tensed. “I…It’s only recent and normal people find it hard to get on with so that’d be…appreciated, yeah, thanks.” Unease at being so close was still there, he wanted to swear at it until it pissed off. But he knew there was more she wasn’t saying. “If that’s all?” he suggested, hefting his bag higher up his shoulder.

 

Her head flicked up and she looked panicked for a moment. “Oh, no, forgive me it’s just that… Rumours of what you did for the Malfoy heir have been spreading among werewolves, all the way down to the pack I live with in Land’s End.”

 

“What I-”

 

“You shared your gift with him, made it so that he could carry young the way you do, providing he pair with a werewolf mate.” She stepped closer, grabbing both of his hands. Harry flinched instinctively and backed up, grunting slightly in annoyance at how stupid he must look.

 

“Sorry,” he winced, “It’s…hormones, instincts, whatever you want to call them. It doesn’t feel right when people get too close.”

 

She blinked, eyes wide, scanning him quickly. “I’m so sorry,” she gasped. “I should’ve thought but I… Our pack never had one such as you since the Hunt desecrated it. So little is known…”

 

Harry nodded grimly. The Hunt was something Fenrir loathed to discuss but he was very aware of it. “So you…you and your mate want to conceive, is that it?” he guessed.

 

“Not only us. Please, Mr Potter, Harry, you could help bring happiness to so many of us, not only those in our pack but the rogues too. But we cannot find you easily you see and so…” She looked as if she wanted to grasp his hands again but managed to stop herself. “I know that only one who is born to it like you, not made like Mr Malfoy can share the gift. Would you not share it with the rest of us?”

 

“The thing is,” he began hesitantly. “It takes a lot out of me. I’m more than happy to share this gift but I can’t do it all at once. You’d have to take it in turns, Fenrir wouldn’t allow strangers into pack grounds so I’m not sure where we’d do the ritual and even then, I’m not sure how to spread word.”

 

“I do not regret falling for my husband,” she replied softly. “But to never be able to carry my own child is…” Her eyes turned bright, glassy. “Your pack is quite secluded as far as the werewolf community is concerned. Ours is a hub of sorts, we are frequently in contact with others who could-”

 

Harry winced, torn between helping people and the overwhelming, sickening feeling at the thought of being sought out by so many strangers. His hand slid to his stomach unbidden and he glanced to the door. “Other wolves came after me once because of what I could do,” he murmured. “They hurt my pack. They killed, because of me.” An image of Ulric’s stern, uncompromising expression came to mind and he ached. “This isn’t just me involved here. I…I need to speak to Fenrir.”

 

“Fenrir Greyback,” she said, as if testing the name on her tongue. “Yes. That…I understand.” Her disappointment was palpable. Perhaps she assumed Fenrir would automatically say no. Harry had to admit, he assumed the same.

 

“Just let me talk to him,” he said, in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “I really have to get to the next lesson,” he added. There was no reply, even as he closed the door behind him.

 

*                    *                    *

 

“You didn’t have a good day then?” Fenrir asked that evening around the fire at dinner. The atmosphere was the same as always, bright warm, merry. Kirian and Vilkas were taking their turn at clearing the plates and bowls with Amoux and Fenrir was nursing a large flagon of mead with a hand on Harry’s thigh.

 

“No, it was great,” Harry said, but even to his own ears he didn’t sound convinced. “There were some people I recognised from school before and I actually found I remembered a lot of the stuff I learned before. Bit of a reality shock to sit still in a classroom though.” He glanced to Kirian. “I think it was hard for him. Eithne said around lunch time he got really upset and wanted me to put him down for his nap but he was alright when he woke up.”

 

“Kirian needs to grow a bit without you,” Fenrir said, “He isn’t going to be emotionally scarred. This sort of stuff is normal for human kids as well you know.”

 

It was on Harry’s tongue to ask exactly how he knew that, but he didn’t want to take his mood out on Fenrir. Instead he sighed. The hand on his thigh tightened a fraction. “Is it the cub?”

 

“No,” Harry said quickly. “No, it’s fine. I’m fine, I just…” He cast a glance around the circle, casting a subtle _Muffliato_ before answering, “I was just thinking about my…gift.”

 

Fenrir’s brows furrowed. “What about it?”

 

“I haven’t shared it with anyone except our pack,” he said, not meeting that gaze that knew him worryingly well. “I think…I think I inherited it for a reason. I feel like I should make use of it.”

 

Fenrir remained silent, large hand sliding up so that his knuckles could brush against the flat slope of Harry’s stomach through his clothing. Harry covered the hand with his own. “You don’t want me to,” Harry guessed.

 

Fenrir caught his gaze, eyes warm. “I want you safe. I don’t care about anyone else.”

 

Harry felt a smile touch his lips and brushed his thumb across the back of Fenrir’s rough hand. Moments like this, with simple intimacy and connection, they made everything else fall away. “Which is why I don’t want you to flip when I tell you this, but my Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher? Her husband is a werewolf.” The hand under his tensed and Harry hastened to add, “She didn’t hurt me, Fenrir. We just got to talking and…she wants me to share my gift with her. She’s from a pack down south somewhere – she said they’re a centre point for a lot of the others and the rogues too, that maybe they could spread the word. Maybe I could help more people.”

 

“The Land’s End pack run on political bullshit,” Fenrir said shortly. “If they get wind of you they’ll drag you into their rubbish and then you’ll have dug yourself a hole you won’t be able to get out of.” His face was hard, unyielding. “Last time I saw them was just after my parents…. Well, anyway they thought what was left of all the packs should congregate under their pack leader. They wanted an uprising, which I wasn’t exactly opposed to but Greybacks don’t bow to anyone. Much less someone who hasn’t even won their respect. Their pack leader is a malicious, scheming arse and we cut ties with him long ago.” The hand not resting on Harry’s stomach slid round to grip the bench behind him. “Harry, he’s just like Conall and the others. Except instead of turning up and demanding you outright they’ll make up some political rubbish to lure you in until you can’t get out. Don’t do this, Harry. I’m asking you.” He hesitated, eyes dark. “Please.”

 

It was very rare for Fenrir to ask for anything, especially so earnestly. Harry was lost for words for a moment and grateful for the notice me not charm because he knew his expression must be mortifyingly gobsmacked. “Fenrir,” he began, “I just…that yearning for children, we can satisfy that for so many people. You know what it feels like yourself, would you wish that on someone when I can so easily fix it? If the Land’s End pack aren’t the way, then surely we can find another?”

 

Fenrir sighed. “I can… _empathise_ with others who feels the same as me, have the same yearning, but I don’t care about them in the same way you do. As long as you’re safe and we have our cubs, our pack, I don’t care about anything else.”

 

Harry cocked his head, brow furrowed with affectionate disapproval. “I know, I get it, just…” He remembered the image of the desecrated valley, his pack mates fighting for their lives, of Ulric’s tragic end in his arms. He didn’t want to bring that on his pack again, but he also thought of Larentia and of Fenrir’s yearning, the same that so many would feel. “If you think I might bring harm to our family then I won’t insist on it,” he said at last, looking into those conflicted blue eyes. He could see the internal battle, practically hear Fenrir’s desire to immediately snap that he shouldn’t. But then he saw the part of him that _knew_ Harry was counting on him to be truthful.

 

With a growl of frustration, Fenrir leant back and pushed to his feet. Harry watched him walk a few feet beyond the warm magic surrounding the fire, before getting up himself. Ghost flicked his tail and walked beside him after Fenrir, until both of them joined him by the edge of the pool that was sheltered by the great willow he’d sat in years before with Kirian in his belly. The moonlight trickled through the gaps in the canopy to paint the still water below and reflected onto Fenrir’s face. He was so stunning in that moment that Harry could only stare.

 

Ghost nudged at his hand, coaxing Harry to rub his ears. The feel of soft fur under his fingertips could not distract from the moment though. In times like this Fenrir looked so young and mulish, with the same expression Kirian wore when Harry scolded him. In the end, Harry leant down, brushing his mouth across Fenrir’s in a barely there kiss.

 

“What?” Fenrir mumbled, but his face had softened.

 

“I love you,” he said, words not said nearly often enough but always meant. Fenrir let out a low, rumbling croon that made Harry’s instincts prickle pleasantly. “I won’t push this if you think it will be a risk.”

 

“You were at that school for a few hours and already you’ve encountered a werewolf’s mate – what’s going to happen in a few weeks?” Fenrir grumbled.

 

Harry sat down on the edge of the pool, Ghost’s head pushing its way into his lap, which he stroked distractedly. “Who can say. We can’t plan for every eventuality and we can’t hide away in our bubble just in case some sort of conflict comes about either.” He thought of Snape calling him reckless then and added, “There is a difference between taking chances and being foolhardy though. If you think this will be stupid, if I’m going to be putting everyone at risk then tell me so. Only you know how dangerous this pack is.”

 

Fenrir sighed again, leaning back on his arms, legs spread out in front of him, _just_ shy of the edge of the pool. “They’re not dangerous like Conall and the others were,” he muttered. “But more manipulative, clever. I’m surprised Conall didn’t go to them first, just to piss me off but then I s’pose he didn’t want the competition. Land’s End, they want to rule us, Harry. If they had you, they could.”

 

Harry raised a brow. “And you don’t fancy ruling all werewolves?” he had no doubt Fenrir could.

 

“I just want my pack, that’s all I care about,” Fenrir replied, dragging a hand across the hair at the back of his neck. “It’ll be a pain in the arse. They’ll try and manipulate you and I’ll have to step in every time and tell them where to go.”

 

“I can look after myself, you know,” Harry began.

 

“I know that, but you shouldn’t bloody have to,” Fenrir snapped. “You should be able to share your gift without worrying about repercussions. So I _will_ have to step in but I don’t think they’ll be violent. They think themselves above it. Like some…werewolf elders or some such rubbish.” He glanced at Harry at last, almost unwillingly. “I…I don’t think anyone will be in danger. If you really feel like you have to do this, then I’ll support it.”

 

Harry’s fingers paused where they rested over Ghost’s head. Those ears had flicked up and Harry saw Kirian heading toward them across the grass. He beamed sleepily at the three of them, climbing into the small space in Harry’s lap that Ghost had left, so he was nestled between Harry and Fenrir. “Does the baby sleep the same time as me?” Kirian asked, voice slightly slurred with oncoming slumber.

 

Chuckling, Fenrir leant back, drawing his family with him so they were curled together on the grass. Harry too closed his eyes, arm over Kirian but hand resting on Fenrir's chest. Kirian had taken to patting Harry's stomach gently as he spoke, the way one might a dog or cat. It made Harry's old feelings of feminisation ripple like angry insects under his skin, but Kirian was so heartfelt and tender, innocent that he couldn't quite feel as indignant about it as he'd like.

 

“The baby sleeps a lot so he grows,” Fenrir said, turning his head so he could sniff at Harry's hair. “When he gets a bit bigger you'll be able to feel him. Maybe even see him moving.

 

Harry flushed for some reason. Pregnancy definitely was going to be different this time round, he hoped for the best.

 

“S'it a boy then?” Kirian mumbled. Even through tiredness Harry thought he could hear hopefulness.

 

“Maybe. You'll have to wait and see,” Harry replied. Kirian's small hand patted him one last time.

 

“I won't be the baby anymore,” Kirian said in a hushed but pleased voice and with that his head drooped and he drifted off. Ghost shifted closer, his warm fur all the heat Harry and Kirian's sensitive skin needed to protect against what little cold managed to sneak in through the wards. Harry hadn't realised how good for Kirian the baby would be before now. He already seemed stronger, more confident. Had Harry really been babying him, holding him back all this time?

 

“Stop thinking,” Fenrir grumbled, “I can hear it from here.”

 

Harry snorted but pushed his head up a little to encourage the soft sniffing and nuzzling against his head. It felt nice. It always did with Fenrir. With all of them together like this. “I never meant to hold him back,” he whispered.

 

“You haven't. He's our son and he's been raised happy and safe. He's had the best childhood anyone could ask for, you haven't done anything wrong, Harry,” Fenrir said tiredly. “Let it go, will you? He's fine. Now's just...the time to let him stretch his legs a little. Let him grow on his own.”

 

Harry nodded slowly. He was so tired. It'd been a long day and his head felt so busy. The warmth around him, the pressure against his head helped. “I'll try. And I’ll try not to be reckless,” Harry murmured as he held Kirian close, leaning against Fenrir’s shoulder.

 

“That’ll be the day,” Fenrir responded under his breath, but his tone was affectionate and empty of bite. Harry closed his eyes. Just for a minute.

 

*                    *                    *

 

The following days were filled with tension and Harry only had himself to blame. No one much liked the idea of opening themselves to the Land’s End pack and Harry felt unease brewing among the pack. The day Fenrir and Raquelle left to make initial contact with them was the day it all boiled over.

 

“Don’t pine so, Potter,” Draco said as they walked, Astrid strapped in a sling over his chest so he only had to support her head as they moved. “You’ve brought this on yourself.”

 

Harry scowled. “I’m trying to do what’s right. Imagine how much more difficult your life would’ve been if I hadn’t shared the gift with you. Imagine how different?” He gestured to Astrid. “You wouldn’t have had Astrid. You would’ve had to risk being bitten to be with the person you loved. That’s not right. I can fix it. I _should_ fix it for everyone if I can.”

 

“Hell-bent on saving the world after all these years,” Draco sighed dramatically. They passed the small pool where a lot of the pack were gathered, doing the laundry and watching the cubs that were too young to take part in the lesson taking place on the stone circle.

 

“I believe everything happens for a reason,” Harry said with a shrug. “I was given this so I could give it to others. Rebuild the world wizarding kind destroyed. A lot of this pack were resistant to me at first because of my wizard heritage. I know why now and I want to make amends.”

 

“You believe it will help to further bring the two worlds together,” Draco said. “Remove lingering reticence for the future.”

 

Before Harry could answer, one of those by the pool muttered something. Draco stopped. “What did you say?” he hissed.

 

The man, around the same age as Echo (though werewolf appearances could sometimes be deceiving), turned to face them. To his credit, he looked sheepish at being overheard but all the more defiant because of it. “I said nothing can erase what wizards did to us. Some things can’t be undone.”

 

Harry bristled. “We are part wizard too,” he said, trying not to sound petulant.

 

The man just stared. “You’re one of us. Not one of them. Some attempts at blurring the lines only serve to put us in danger. Some things are the way they are for a reason.”

 

Draco stepped forward, brushing his hand down Astrid’s back with one hand, vanishing the strap and easing her into Harry’s arms. “Nothing just _is_ ,” he snapped. “Nothing has to be forever more just because it has always been, nor does it make it right. This is your alpha pair’s decision.” He raised his silver gaze to the rest of the pack gathered by the pool who were watching in silence. “Don’t think I haven’t heard the whispers. If you want to challenge your alphas’ decision, then do so like a wolf not a mutinous rat.”

 

The man before them rose, standing head and shoulders above Draco and flushed with anger. “Hey, that’s enough. We’ve got a right to discuss how we feel without being spat at by a little upstart like you.”

 

Draco snarled, shoving his hand roughly into the man’s chest and making him stagger, teeth bared. “Stand down,” he seethed, eyes flashing. “Remember your place.”

 

“You’re the Alpha Numero’s enforcer because you lift your arse to the beta, not for any credit of your own,” the man growled back. Harry tensed but it was needless. He should’ve known Draco could demand his owed respect himself. Some things _had_ changed over the years. Draco gave another warning snap before he leapt, throwing his full body into the unprepared man and making him stumble back hard into the grass. Draco straightened, foot pressed into his neck and turning his face to the dirt. He wasn’t physically stronger but he was more dominant, both by nature and within the pack.

 

“You disrespect me and your alphas with your prattling. I’m not a boy. This is a werewolf pack not a girl’s playground,” Draco hissed, pressing harder with his foot.

 

“The pack is afraid of what will happen if we open our arms to the rest of the werewolf community,” a woman said, approaching with head slightly angled in respect, eyes imploring. Harry and Fenrir were the alpha pair and Draco and Echo the second, the beta pair of the pack. They commanded respect of their own that had only been heightened by Astrid’s birth. Harry watched, knowing somehow that he had to let Draco fight this himself. Some werewolf politics needed to be fought out. The challenged wolf needed to face the challenger. That was the way it was done.

 

Draco’s head snapped up to look at the woman, who edged back slightly. “That’s all,” she said gently. “He just got a bit…worked up.”

 

“ _He_ should be the one offering submission, not you,” Draco murmured darkly. He couldn’t transform into a wolf yet but Harry swore he could see the shadow of the wolf in his face as he glared down at the large man under his foot. “You remember what happened to the last insubordinate, don’t you?” he snapped, meaning Weylyn. Everything went still. Draco pressed a final time with his foot before stepping back. The man scrabbled to his feet and looked to Harry, apparently wondering at his reaction. When Harry did nothing and Draco continued to stare, he turned his head with a huff and waited.

 

“If you have fears concerning the future, you should speak with Harry, Fenrir, Echo or even myself, not spread rumours like children,” Draco said to everyone who was listening. He focused his gaze on the submitting man once more. “Do _you_ have any issues you would like to discuss with your Alpha Numero?”

 

The man grit his teeth. “I don’t want another invasion,” he said, voice low. “So much has changed in recent years…”

 

“Good changes,” Harry said, easing Astrid back into Draco’s arms. “The pack has flourished because of it. And we won’t be leaving our gates open to people we don’t trust. Fenrir and I and a few others will go to them when the time is right and none of them will be admitted inside here until they prove their credibility. Alright?” Harry replied carefully.

 

The man shifted but did not look at either of them, his initial flare of embarrassed temper dwindling. There were good people here, they just got worked up and upset like everyone else. That’s what pack hierarchy was for, to keep it in line. He smiled thoughtfully as Draco reached forward and gripped the man’s shoulder in acceptance before walking away, continuing toward the gates he and Harry had been heading for initially. Harry lingered, meeting the man’s eyes as he cautiously lifted them.

 

“I meant no disrespect to you, Alpha Numero. It is just that the pack is so full of fear that what happened before will happen again,” the man said.

 

“It won’t,” Harry said. “That’s why we’re trying to make peace with the past and everyone else associated with it. You have to trust me and Fenrir,” he glanced in the direction Draco had gone. “Draco too.”

 

“I do, he just rubs me up the wrong way sometimes,” the man admitted gruffly. At this Harry laughed.

 

“Me too,” he said, “But he deserves as much respect as you give Echo.” When the man nodded, Harry hastened to catch up to Draco, who’d met with Larentia, Hemming and Marrok at the gate and were waiting for him. “Sorry,” he said, “ready.” He’d wanted something, anything to do to clear his busy head and helping with the hunt seemed as good an option as any. As much as he could anyway – he’d never be very good at killing his own food, he was too soft-hearted for that.

 

The irony didn’t escape him when Larentia and Hemming branched off and he, Marrok and Draco met the stretch of the river that Marrok had once taken Harry to. The place Harry had tried to flee from him and had been later saved by Fenrir. He smiled and when he met Marrok’s eye as he crouched down by the river’s edge, he knew the man was remembering the exact same moment.

 

“Don’t take their bickering to heart,” Marrok told Harry and Draco, “You know they’re just gossiping and uncertain of what’s to come. They don’t mean anything by what they say.”

 

Draco snorted, laying Astrid down on the dry grass and crouching down by the water’s edge himself, staring into the depths, waiting. He was always better at this than Harry, more patient – maybe even faster too, though Harry would never admit it. Draco’s head was big enough as it was.

 

“I just don’t want to make the wrong decision,” Harry murmured, “people got hurt before, because of me. I don’t want that to happen again. And I don’t want another bloody war either.”

 

Marrok smirked. “You carry a big weight on your shoulders for someone so small,” he laughed gently. “Don’t worry so loud, you’ll scare the fish.” He glanced to Draco then, before looking back to Harry. “Lean on your pack a bit more. On your mate. You’re not alone, Harry, you haven’t been for a long time.”

 

Not knowing what he could say, Harry nodded. He did still take so much responsibility on himself, even now. It was something that would take a long time to grow out of, he supposed. As his beta, Draco should be allowed to help him more, the way Echo did for Fenrir. He’d more than proved himself capable after all. _Pack politics_ , he thought with a sigh. It was both confusing and yet comforting at the same time.

 

“Hey,” Marrok said gently, lifting his head to sniff the air. “You can run a bit still, can’t you?” he asked Harry mischievously.

 

Harry frowned as he nodded slowly.

“Catch lots of fish, Draco,” Marrok said brightly, shrugging off his trousers and shirt. “Come on, I can smell Larentia and Hemming stalking a catch down the way.” With that, he transformed and Harry watched the dark fur zip off into the trees. Harry darted after him, hearing Draco’s amused chuckle as he did so.

 

Sometimes being part wolf was a glorious thing. The wind rushed through his ears, over his heightened senses and blew the heavy thoughts from his mind. He couldn’t run as fast as he could as a wolf but with that out of the question for the moment… “ _Accio_ Firebolt!” he called and within moments, the broom was zipping alongside him. He hopped on, still as nimble as he’d always been (for now) and shot off in the direction he could smell his pack-mates.

 

A sharp, summoning howl called to him on the breeze. He twitched the broom to the right, weaving easily between the trees as easy as breathing. He inhaled deeply. He could smell sweat, fur, excitement. He tilted his body forward onto the broom, leaning into the wind and letting it slide over him, rush through him like a refreshing spray of sea mist. He broke the line of trees then into a small clearing, spying Marrok, Hemming and Larentia herding a deer just ahead, the sun greeting their fur, their paws thundering across the dirt. Harry’s heart thudded with excitement as he took it all in and flew forwards, cutting the corner of the path they’d woven in the grass and zooming toward them.

 

He didn’t like to take part in the killing of another life – any life really. But the thrill of the chase was something that was a part of him as surely as his magic was. Perhaps it was the reason he made such a good seeker. A sharp, inhuman yip left his lips before he could stop himself and he soared over the deer, distracting Marrok who yapped back. Harry continued into the trees, far and away from the hunt and into the refreshing breeze. With his mind calmed somewhat now, he was just contemplating circling round back to Draco when he smelt it, the spike on the air that sent his hyped up senses into overdrive.

 

Guiding his broom forward into the trees again, he shot across the path of the scent’s source, relishing in the whiff of surprise and thrill of the chase that filled him once again. He couldn’t outrun much on human legs right now, not in his condition but this, this he could do. He wove in and out of the tree trunks with ease, rising up to feel their branches whisk past him, just miss him. He heard the pounding of paws on the earth below and dipped, just enough to feel a brush of silver fur.

 

Fenrir gave a playful growl and bent his head low, pushing himself until he was a few feet ahead, enough space to turn and block Harry’s path. Harry halted with the relative ease characteristic of the firebolt and beamed breathlessly as he watched the silver wolf morph back into the face of his mate.

 

“Trying to entice me to chase you?” Fenrir mused, reaching forward to cup Harry’s neck, using the firm but gentle grip to pull him close so he could smell him. “If you wanted a hunt you should’ve said so.”

 

“Helps clear the head,” Harry replied, tilting his head into the touch of that nose to his temple. “Come help me and Draco catch some fish?” he asked.

“Fishing is for the betas. Alpha catch real game for their mates,” he snorted, releasing Harry so he could step back a fraction. He surveyed him carefully. “You seem more wolf today.”

 

Harry smirked. “I feel like it today. Like…like I want to run with the pack and…” He flushed when he realised how that sounded. “Well you know. I’m guessing it’s hormonal instincts. It doesn’t feel bad though. It’s not like morning sickness.”

 

With a small laugh, Fenrir urge him back onto his feet and propped the broom over his shoulder. “Mingling with the pack when you’re carrying is a good thing. It promotes a healthier term. Embrace it. Your body knows what it needs.” They started walking and Harry nodded thoughtfully.

 

“I think the pack needs it. Needs…the bonding time, maybe. Especially with all this going on with the other pack. We need to be a unified force.”

 

“Spoken like a true alpha mate,” Fenrir noted. “It’s good for a pack to sometimes just give into nature and let it guide them anyway. We can sprawl out tonight after the meal-”

 

“What about coming out here?” Harry asked, gesturing to the forest. “By the water? All of us at once. You know?” He couldn’t explain it. This yearning to move as a pack, for them all to reacquaint themselves with their places, their tandem. In the end, he didn’t need to.

 

“You don’t have to ask permission,” Fenrir said dismissively. “It’s not a dangerous season and the moon is far enough away. There’s no reason not to.”

 

Harry blinked. “I thought you’d be on edge and defiant after being with that other pack,” he said cautiously.

 

“You’re not the only one whose mood improves with a chase,” Fenrir said, eyes practically glowing.

 

 

That night as the evening meal settled in their bellies, Fenrir lead the way out of the tunnels into the clear evening, their pack moving as one to gather round the large pool Harry had taken to when he’d first arrived. Magic illuminated it easily, hundreds of glistening lights filling the clearing with a warm white glow. “It’s like a midnight party!” Kirian beamed happily as he tore off his shirt to shoot toward the water with the rest of the pack children. It was far from midnight but Harry supposed it had that magical quality about it, a new experience made even more exciting in the dead of night. If nothing else, the children were enjoying it.

 

Looking around, his family were relaxing in the magical light around the water, the way muggles might in the sun around a swimming pool. The tension that had been tugging at each of them dwindled into nothing, some of the able adults sprawled out as wolves. Echo himself had rolled over onto his back and Astrid was squirming happily on his furry belly, patting his downy fur and trying to hold on as he rocked slightly, mock shaking her.

 

Harry sat on the edge of the pool, feet hanging into the cool water as he watched Marrok leap in, scattering the children who squealed with glee and made a beeline for him. They all seemed to climb on him, trying to collectively dunk him under. No human words were needed here. Harry felt Fenrir’s wolf settle behind him and leant back into the fur, feeling soft snuffling at his neck and smiling. Then the moon escaped the cover of cloud and Fenrir tipped his head back, howling to the sky above. One by one, everyone stopped and Harry watched, heard as their cries, their song joined with that of their alpha.

 

It was a moment of sheer nature, sheer animal comfort and he closed his eyes, enjoying every moment. Even the children were howling now, singing along with the others. Harry’s human lips couldn’t form the right sound, not right then, but he laid a hand on his stomach and hummed softly as the singing carried them all further toward serenity. When the music stopped he was filled with a peace that he wouldn’t have been able to explain if he tried.

                                                                                                  

*                    *                    *

 

“Here to seek my aid already, Potter?” Snape drawled as Harry walked into his classroom. “Why it's only the start of your second week.” He looked up from the stack of parchment he’d been reading through, probably unfortunate First Years’ essays, Harry thought as he shut the door behind him and came to sit on the edge of one of the desks on the front row. Snape, evidently sensing something was off took a second look at him then sat back from his marking. “What reckless thoughts are parading through that otherwise empty mind then, Potter? What stupidity are you here for me to talk you out of?”

 

Harry scowled but knew better by now to take the bait. This was just how he and Snape communicated that they cared. It was a lot like how he and Draco communicated actually - he supposed it must be a Slytherin thing.

 

“Come now, Potter, you did infuriatingly well in our first lesson together last Friday. You brewed a passable potion and we did not rile each other, I would call that something of a miracle,” Snape continued to prod.

 

Harry smirked in spite of himself. “Passable? You told the class you’d seen centaur urine that was closer to the Contraceptive Potion – which, by the way, was a very amusing private joke.”

 

Snape’s lips tightened in the way Harry had come to realise meant he was amused. “I took great enjoyment out of it,” he agreed in the same disdainful drawl. “But one has to keep up appearances. You will get a fair grade whether I amuse myself at your expense or not.” He set his quill down and folded his hands in front of him on the desk. “How may I help you, Potter? Is something concerning you?” There. There was the flicker of concern, of uneasiness and Harry could clearly see the progress they’d made, the connection they’d formed over the last few years. It was hidden before he knew it but it was there.

 

“I just don’t know what I’m doing here, I s’pose,” Harry admitted sheepishly. He didn’t mean to, but his hand rested on his flat stomach without him realising and he saw Snape follow the motion. Embarassed, he rushed to add, “Am I even doing the right thing being here? I’ve got Kirian and it’s not like I don’t have anything to do at home. I’m not even sure what I want to do with myself if I manage to get my NEWTs.”

 

“Ah, so your intent was to come here in hopes I would inform you what a fool you are being,” Severus said blankly.

 

“I just…I’ve been back a week and I’ve already caused friction between Fenrir and me. Kirian gets really upset when I leave him in the mornings and I’m starting to puke at the sight of toast. Fyerhyde wants me to share my ability with her like and let her introduce me to her pack and the werewolf community and large and…” He growled in frustration, dragging his fingers through his hair.

 

“It is difficult certainly,” Severus replied after a moment, regarding Harry with cool composure. “But since when has taking the hard route ever stopped you before? Your wolf and Kirian can adjust perfectly well. Not knowing what the future holds is no reason not to take the first step.” He looked so like Dumbledore just then that Harry was struck dumb, staring at him like a gaping fish out of water. Severus continued, “Fyerhyde is a teacher. She should behave in a professional manner, not be hounding you to-”

 

“No,” Harry said. “No it’s… She only asked once. You can’t blame her for asking for something I can give her it’s just…the poltical side of things makes it not such a simple decision. I don’t know what to do.”

 

Severus rose from his seat and swept around the desk to stand before Harry. “Finish your NEWTs, do what you must to keep the balance between your home life and your own individuality and let the rest fall into place,” he said as if it were as easy as breathing.

 

Harry frowned. “That’s…pretty good advice, actually.”

 

That smirk was back on the man’s face. “You were expecting more vitriol, I suppose? My apologies for disappointing you, Potter. The worst that I can offer is that you are in danger of letting fear of the unknown and werewolf hormones control your future. Do not disappoint _me_ by listening to either.”

 

Lifting his chin, Harry regarded him levelly. Somehow, the git had managed to say what he needed to hear. “Will I still be able to take my Potions NEWT if I’m the size of a narwhal?” he asked.

 

Severus smirked. “You will find that all of the potions on our syllabus are not harmful to pregnant… _people._ You will do fine. I shall have to keep a close eye on you in the event of an explosion but do not let concern for your infant stop you. Your Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor should do the same for you.” There was a moment, a visible hesitation in his eyes and then Snape added, in a strange sort of voice, “Your mother never let parenthood stop her ambitions or desires. Neither should you, Potter.”

 

Harry’s eyes widened. Even with their understanding, it was so rare for Snape to mention Lily. He liked it and smiled gratefully for this snippet of information, this glimmer of intimacy. “You’re not going to let me have a peek at my score on my potion then?” he hedged, receiving a glare that did not quite reach Snape’s eyes.

 

*                    *                    *

 

“Drip drip drop, little April shower,” Harry hummed roughly, almost woefully under his breath as he tipped his head back to look at the grey heavens. They were darkening with an oncoming storm, Harry could smell its sharp freshness in the air. The little hand in his tightened its grip on him and Harry glanced down to see Kirian’s bright green eyes on him, his face (flushed pink from the wind) stretched into a curious smile.

 

“What’s that? I don’t know that song,” Kirian said brightly. This bright-eyed glee had kept hold of him since Fenrir had suggested he accompany them. His shy reserved little boy was getting hungrier for adventure each day, Harry thought, squeezing Kirian’s hand as he looked up again at the unpleasant blackening clouds.

 

“It’s a muggle song. I just heard it when I was a kid I s’pose. I don’t remember all the words,” Harry said, frowning as he tried to remember anymore. “Err….Drip, drip, drop little April shower, beating a tune as you fall all around,” he tried again. “Something, something…pretty little pitter patter.”

 

Kirian laughed, swinging off his arm and bounding ahead a few steps, staring up at the sky, arms spread wide as he turned in circles. “Because the raindrops hit the ground!” he exclaimed.

 

With his own steps slowed from looking skyward, Harry felt Fenrir at his back and was made aware of how clumsy his steps had been. That and Fenrir, Marrok, Raquelle and Larentia had nearly walked into him. He felt Fenrir’s chuckle against the back of his neck and some of the apprehension, the nervous knots loosened in his stomach.

 

“Keep your eyes where you’re walking Celestina Warbeck,” Fenrir said gruffly, thick fingers brushing against the side of his now subtly rounded stomach. Harry flushed and fell into stride beside Fenrir. Kirian circled round their entire little group like a hippogriff in flight, leaping onto Marrok’s back with what Harry supposed was meant to be a hippogriff’s squawk.

 

The wind whipped across the steepening grass. Just in the distance the beaten track curved up between two hills. He supposed that was where they were heading. They’d apparated as close as they could but were having to walk the rest of the way. The closer they got, the more the scent of wolves filled his nostrils, uneasiness swelled. “Are you sure it was a good idea to bring Kirian?” he asked quietly, the overprotectiveness accelerated thanks to his condition.

 

Fenrir glanced back. Kirian had scrabbled up Marrok’s back and was now partially hanging off his shoulders, partially being given a piggyback ride. “He asked to come,” Fenrir said as if that was the end of it. But evidently, he sensed Harry’s eyes still on him. “He needs to see the world, Harry. We’re not walking into a battleground, we’re walking in there as a pack.”

 

Harry eyed Fenrir thoughtfully. He’d pressed to do something about his gift and Echo had suggested that if they wait a few months, if they wait until Harry was visibly pregnant, however obhorrent Harry’s instincts would find that, it would help keep the other pack calm, more respectful of boundaries. _‘Emotions run high where cubs are involved,’_ Echo had said _, ‘let’s turn that to our advantage.’_

Harry brushed his hand against his stomach, only slightly rounded but clearly visible in the shirt he wore now – on purpose of course, even though his instincts urged him to bolt in the other direction. The human in him had too much pride for that. He sighed. “I know I’m the one that wanted to do this, I’m not going back on that I just feel…uneasy, walking into strange territory that stinks of other wolves with Kirian, that’s all.”

 

A grin broke across Fenrir’s lips. He seemed oddly pleased. “I do love it when the wolf in you comes out like that,” he mused. But on sensing Harry’s uncertainty he added, “Do you think any of you would be here if you were in any danger?”

 

“I s’pose not,” Harry had to concede.

 

The path of trodden grass lead them down between the two hills, right to the bank of a huge lake. Even under a dark sky it looked stunning. It reminded Harry of Hogwarts. A similar kind of spring flowers were trying to bloom on the hillside and the same kind of birds seemed to be circling the trees on the far side of the lake. The path they were on circled the water all the way round and up to a great stone castle that was built into the cliffside.

 

“Wow,” Harry breathed, awed by the sight of it. “They live there? That’s their den?”

 

Fenrir snorted. “I told you, they think of themselves as werewolf royalty or something. A mere taster of their flashiness. Come on.” He walked on ahead, leaving Harry confused for a moment as he moved to catch up. Fenrir was annoyed because he was impressed.

 

“Anyone can build a castle,” Harry tried as he fell into step beside Fenrir again, brushing his fingers against Fenrir’s when he got no response. “Our home, it’s…” He thought of the stunning columns of magical light that reflected the phases of the sun and moon, of their protected valley that showed lush green no matter the season. “It’s magic,” was all he could say. It was starting to rain now. Harry felt the droplets run down the back of his neck and shivered, pulling the same fur cloak around him tight.

 

To his surprise, Fenrir’s fingers brushed against his own in answer, before wrapping around them, so they were clasping his hand as they walked. As open and brazen as the pack were in front of each other, Fenrir was always so hesitant about displays of affection (that weren’t also displays of supremacy) that the tiny, tender act startled Harry. He felt his cheeks heat and glanced up at him. “Are you seriously worried they’re going to win me over or something?” Harry whispered for his ears only. “You’re the father of my… We’ve been together for… I’m _yours,_ ” he finished lamely.

 

The fingers around his squeezed gently. There was a long pause as they approached the end of the path and came to stand in front of two great oak doors that stood easily seven times taller than even Marrok. Harry stared up to the top of the castle, as far as he could see.

 

“You should’ve let me fuck you once more before we left,” Fenrir murmured, releasing his hand reluctantly to bang hard on the doors. The knocking sound stretched out into a heavy echo. “You don’t smell of me as strongly as you should.” 

Harry scoffed, pulling his cloak off again and tucking it into the pouch at his waist that Hermione had given him for Christmas. It had an undetectable expansion charm that made him smile every time he had need of it. It made looking after a child so much simpler. Everything was in there that they might need. The rain began to beat down heavier now but he didn’t put the cloak back on. He knew Fenrir wanted them to see him, to smell him. Let them, if that’d make things easier. He wasn’t the same embarrassed, awkward schoolboy he’d been when he’d faced Conall and the others.

 

There was a rumble of thunder above and then…

 

“Who goes there?” a gruff voice called down from the chalice.

 

Fenrir sneered. “You bloody well know who,” he snapped. “Greyback. We know Fyerhyde told you we were coming so cut the pleasantries and let us in before the heavens open.”

 

Nothing for a moment. Rain burst from the sky in a thick, tumultuous shower and Harry did flinch at the sharp, needling ferocity of it. He lifted his hand to the sky and cast an umbrella charm wide enough to shield them all. Fenrir glanced down at him, his blue eyes warm and admiring. Harry flushed. Fenrir always did like his effortless wandless magic. Large fingers smoothed his damp fringe back from his forehead and brushed against his scar. “To think you once didn’t even know how to cast a wandless light charm.”

 

“Dad’s the strongest wizard since Dummeldord! The book Teddy has said so!” Kirian said gleefully from Marrok’s shoulders, little legs flailing excitedly.

 

“Oh Lord,” Harry said, cheeks burning slightly. He dragged his hand through the hair at the back of his neck. Fenrir laughed, just as the great doors before them groaned and drew backward slowly, opening to reveal a greying but robust looking man in the gateway. He surveyed them with a slightly inclined head, square shoulders and stocky build. He stood as tall as Fenrir and showed no signs of intimidation as Harry and the others moved inward.

 

The floor was paved with stone, weathered and buffed by time. The walls of the buildings were made from the same grey stonework as the outer shell of the castle, forming a village of dwellings that seemed to curve around the path all the way up to the keep high at the centre, raised up as if on a hill. Harry didn’t need to think too hard to see where the alpha lived. It seemed the rain didn’t reach them inside the castle walls, even though a glance upward showed the sky as clearly as it had beyond them. It was a similar magic to what protected the Valley from a lot of the elements, he supposed.

 

“Welcome, Fenrir Greyback,” the man said as the doors closed behind them. He turned his head to look at Harry, casting his gaze up and down him. Harry straightened, glaring defiantly.

 

“Alpha Numero. Praeditos. Harry Potter,” the man said and offered his hand to Harry. “I am Alpha Dromon’s first son, Kear. Welcome.”

 

Harry took his hand and shook it firmly, even as Fenrir tensed beside him. The whole point of this was that everyone would be more wary, more respectful of boundaries while he was like this. They couldn’t back out now. “Thanks for seeing us,” he said evenly, glancing up to the castle at the top of the gradual sloping road, surrounded by all the houses. “Errr, I guess you know why we’re here?”

 

Kear smiled slightly. His face was made of softer lines than Fenrir’s, worn with the beginnings of wrinkles. He must’ve been a fair bit older than Fenrir then, Harry thought.

 

“Praeditos, gifted,” Kear said. “Yes we know why you came. Fyerhyde has informed us.” He cast his gaze over them all, eyes resting on Fenrir for a moment before he stepped back, gesturing with his hand up the road ahead that wound out of sight. “If you’d come this way? It’s a bit of a wallk I’m afraid.”

 

“I’m not that pregnant yet,” Harry said, uncomfortable at the weight of those eyes on his stomach.

 

That small smile was his answer again, his only answer as Kear lead the way up the winding road. It carried them up through an expansive archway carved of the same stone as everything else. There was an opulent courtyard there before a set of more modest doors beyond some steps. Steps where a man and two women stood. The man looked so much like Kear that it was impossible to not know who he was.

 

As they came to a halt, Harry felt a little hand slide into his and glanced down to see Kirian at his side, wide green eyes focussed on the alpha and the women beside him. “Dad, is he an alpha too?” he whispered. Harry raised his eyes to the man now descending the steps to meet them, his hand coming up to cup Kirian’s head, brushing comfortingly against his hair.

 

“Yeah, to a different pack,” he muttered in answer. He could not help but notice Fenrir’s eyes were trained on Alpha Dromon, a mixture of respect but also warning. Harry wondered if he should do the same, but thought the action betrayed uneasiness, fear which he didn’t want to show. Instead he looked down to Kirian again as if the rest of the world didn’t matter.

 

“Is he stronger than Alpha?” Kirian whispered.

 

Harry smirked. “Not in the slightest,” he replied without hesitation, hearing Fenrir give a small grunt. When Harry straightened, he saw Dromon was right in front of them now, clapping Fenrir on the shoulder.

 

“It’s been decades, Greyback,” Dromon said, “I don’t think I’ve seen you since the Hunt were at large.”

 

Fenrir squeezed the man’s shoulder in return. It wasn’t like the slap on the shoulder the Weasleys sometimes gave Harry. It was like a hard, firm handshake, meant to make a statement. “I was much younger then,” Fenrir said as they released each other. “And much less pretty.”

 

“I’ve heard of your exploits though through our connections with the Wizarding World,” Dromon replied with a smirk, glancing at Harry. “Yours and your mate’s. Defeating Dark Lords, culling rogues that step out of line, reforming the regulations on werewolves…” He didn’t touch Harry as he’d done Fenrir, but he did give a small bow, as if Harry were royalty. Perhaps, in some eyes, he was. That made him even more uncomfortable as the man met his gaze.

 

“Harry Potter, it’s an honour,” he intoned, his voice more refined than it had been when he’d spoken to Fenrir. His nostrils visibly twitched and Harry knew he was scenting him, inhaling the smell of breeding sub. Harry lifted his chin in defiance and waited. Those eyes flicked to his stomach but he did not mention it. “And who is this?” Dromon asked, looking at Kirian.

 

Harry stroked Kirian’s hair gently “Kirian Potter Greyback.”

 

“Pleasant to meet you,” the man said smoothly. Kirian fidgeted.

 

“I’m the Alpha’s son,” he said, his words challenging but his voice wavering a little. Pride still swelled in Harry’s chest. it was more than he’d expected.

 

Dromon chuckled. “A feat indeed,” he replied. “But it is who your mother is that makes you special.”

 

Harry stiffened. Kirian blinked curiously. “I don’t have a mother,” he said, tilting his head to look at Harry. “Only my Alpha and my Dad.”

 

“Of course,” Dromon said, focussing on Harry contemplatively. Harry’s face was a hard mask that Snape would have been proud of. “My apologies, it has been decades since Praeditos have walked among our pack. You must be aware of how unique you are.”

 

“Yes,” Harry said, his tone betraying nothing. “I’m aware. That’s why I’m here.”

 

Everything in the coutyard fell silent. He swore he felt a flicker of pride radiating from Fenrir, evidently pleased at putting this man in his place before he had chance to stray. The women behind Dromon seemed shocked, their faces riveted to Harry. Harry inhaled slowly. Dromon, however, seemed pleased with his bluntness.

 

“Quite the find,” Dromon said, “if we had been aware of your existence before Greyback claimed you-”

 

“He didn’t claim me,” Harry said sharply, “I chose him. If you’d tried to stake a claim on me, you’d likely have ended up the same as Conall and the others.”

 

“The nerve!” One of the women hissed. She stepped forward and Harry felt every member of his pack tense. A low growl rumbling in Fenrir’s throat.

 

“Stay your sensitivity,” Dromon said to her, eyes riveted to Harry. “Is it just your condition that makes you bold like a cornered mountain cat or is this your normal temperament?”

 

Harry’s lips parted to answer but Fenrir beat him to it.

 

“This is just Harry,” he said, sounding pleased.

 

It was true, Harry supposed. Fenrir liked to call him ‘gobby’ and even ‘spirited’ and with the baby growing inside him, it only made him more snappy. More likely to lash out when forced into situations such as these when the wolf in him wanted to be as small and inconspicuous as possible.

 

“Phenomenal,” Dromon murmured, awed, studying Harry and then the slight protrusion of his stomach before stepping back. “We have set a feast for lunch anticipating your arrival, please come this way.” And with that he lead them up the stone steps. Harry felt his pack close in around him and Fenrir and had to wonder if things were going to stay as amicable as they’d anticipated.

 

_To Be Continued…_


	5. A Game of Shadows

A Game of Shadows

Chapter Five

The feast was so mouth-watering it rivalled those of Hogwarts. Harry’s mood and tolerance improved vastly will a full stomach and he thought everyone else’s did too. He sat back from his empty plate at the long dark mahogany table and saw Kirian was still plodding his way through a very large meal. A hand brushing against his stomach drew his attention to his left, however, where Fenrir was giving him that knowing look.

 

A quick glance to the right showed that Dromon, his son and the two women from before were watching him from across the vast table. The hand on his stomach was a warning to _them_ , Harry realised. He covered the hand with his own to communicate his understanding. Harming or compromising a breeding sub was the most capital of sins to people like them, like this. They were different to Conall and the others. It didn’t make them safe but it made things easier to anticipate, to control.

“Better?” Fenrir asked him.

 

“Much,” he said, referring to his full stomach. Things had been so normal this time, cravings, sickness, Fenrir and Kirian and everyone so… _happy_ for him. It made him wonder when something was going to happen to break this relative peace apart.

 

“You are quite an important young man, you realise,” Kear said to Kirian in a gentle, coaxing voice.

 

Kirian cocked his head to the side, fork poised half way to his mouth. “I’m the alpha’s son,” he said after a moment, seeming pleased with himself. “And my dad won a war.”

 

Kear smiled. “All very important things,” he agreed. “But you, yourself are very important. You’re the first _born_ werewolf the world has seen for a very long time.”

 

Kirian looked a bit confused but otherwise untroubled, continuing to shovel his food into his mouth. “Larentia says I’m special.”

 

With a nod, Kear set his fork down. “Incredibly.” He looked to Harry and Fenrir with intrigue. “Has he turned yet? There are rumours that powerful born wolves sometimes change earlier than others. That they have stronger, more intuitive magic.”

 

Fenrir made a grumbling sound under his breath. “He’s not changed. He’s not even five years old yet.”

 

Harry, noted the dismissive tone in his voice and wondered how much truth there was to these ‘rumours’ Kear spoke of. “He does a lot of accidental magic though,” Harry said, trying to be helpful, “calling his favourite toy to him or if he’s running around with the other kids he might find himself in a tree or something. I’m not really a good judge I s’pose but he’s really smart as well.” He glanced down, just at the moment that Kirian managed to miss his mouth spectacularly and spill some of the gravy from his meal down his front. Fenrir snorted, banishing the mess with a pass of his hand.

 

“Would you be willing to discuss your condition?” Dromon asked now, apparently having been pondering his question during his silence. Harry met his eyes but noticed that Fenrir’s hand did not move from his stomach. Rather than irritate him as it might have once, he found it comforting. The wolf was practically purring inside.

 

“We’ve had such little exposure to people like you,” Kear said, his voice a little more peaceable than his father’s. “My mother died with complications in birthing my youngest sister. After the Hunt desecrated our previous pack grounds we lost most of our history, our records.”

 

This Harry could understand. Wanting to know more of your species, about where you came from. He glanced at Kirian, who was eating happily, legs swinging under the table, not at all bothered by the proceedings now. It was the air, the aura he was putting out, Harry thought. Relaxation, comfort…

 

“My term is five months and my instincts sort of have more sway over me, especially toward the end. They make me act in the best interest of the baby and the err… _birth_ is pretty much all instinct. I don’t really remember it but my body sort of knows what to do, go hide somewhere quiet, warm and safe. A lot of the symptoms or whatever you want to call them are the same as human women,” Harry said simply, “I take it you know what those are?”

 

Kear smirked. “Morning sickness, mood swings, cravings?” he suggested.

 

Harry nodded, wondering how he knew so well, he raised a brow curiously. His question must have been evident for Kear added, “I have a human partner. She wished for her own children and so…she used magical insemination with an anonymous human donor to conceive.”

 

“She had someone else’s kids?” Harry asked, belatedly realising how insensitive and ignorant that sounded.

 

“The children she gave birth to, all three of them I consider my own, even if they are not of my blood,” Kear corrected. “They were raised as mine and they call me father. But that was not the kind of mind-set you expected, is it?”

 

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Err, no, reckon not, sorry,” he said, appalled at his own preconceptions. “That’s good though. That I was wrong. I…I don’t have a problem with sharing my gift but I have a problem with it being abused. Some wolves thought they could own me and use me like a broodmare because of what I am, I don’t want to leave doors open to that kind of thing.”

 

“What’s a boodmayer?” Kirian asked interestedly, voice quiet for Harry’s ears only. Harry hesitated, but was inadvertently saved from having to answer by the blonde woman on Dromon’s side.

 

“You believe some might force your gift on a sub to beget a blood heir,” she said. It was not a question.

 

Harry blinked. “I _know_ they will. I’ve seen what some people will do for it, watched them kill and be killed. I’m just trying to think of a way that we could ensure whoever wanted the gift were sincere. I was thinking a spell or a potion before the ritual that might show their true intentions. I have a potions master who might help.”

 

The blonde raised her eyebrows. “Wizard magic and potions?”

 

“I’m a wizard,” Harry protested, jaw tight. “My son will be too when he’s older, at least in part. Don’t tell me I’ve been wasting time convincing the Wizarding World to change their opinions of werewolves only to realise it’s you who need to be convinced?”

 

The woman glared. “Our race was hunted to near extinction by them. Your mate himself was one of the first to admit his loathing for them. He was chieftain of our hatred.”

 

Beside Harry, Fenrir tensed.

 

“Do not tell me Fenrir Greyback the wizard slayer has turned into a little pussycat under your juvenile thumb?”

 

Fenrir leapt to his feet then, the action challenged by Alpha Dromon and the others, which caused Marrok on the others to leap up, ready for defence. “An insipid bitch thinks to talk down to me? To my mate?” he snarled viciously. “It was a mistake to come here and expect anything from this wretched place but elitism and deceit.” He set his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Let’s go, we wasted our time. You can’t talk sense to people who think they’re above everyone else.”

 

Harry opened his mouth to protest but Larentia’s voice cut through the furious din.

 

“They haven’t been lucky enough to see Harry’s gift before now,” she said simply, her tone unaffected and cool as ever, even though she stood behind Kirian and Harry ready to leap over them the event of attack. Her instincts were on high alert just as everyone else in the pack was, ready to defend him if necessary. Harry didn’t like it, but he’d had years to adjust to it. She continued. “When I first saw him and realised what he meant for us, for people that felt the same as me I was angry. Angry because he couldn’t help _me_ and angry because he had the thing I wanted most.”

 

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He and Larentia had come to an understanding, no, more than that over the years. She was a bristly bird. She’d had a hard life that had made her a hard woman but she was family. Harry ached for her right now. He could see her posture stiff, reluctant to share and her pride protesting. But he knew that she could understand both sides of this feud. Perhaps only she could halt it and allow them to move in the right direction.

 

“I hated him for a long time,” she said, glancing unapologetically to Harry. “But then I saw the goodness in him, the goodness he was happy to share. He would help me in an instant if he could. I have learned to live with that impossibility and am resolved to find happiness elsewhere. But they,” she gestured to Dromon’s pack on the opposite side of the long table but looked hard at Fenrir. “They haven’t had the time I did to adjust. Some of them are in awe, some of them are jealous and bitter because this gift cannot help them, some are eager but afraid of what this change may bring. They want it but they are afraid. You _must_ understand this!”

 

Fenrir’s shoulders tensed. Harry felt annoyance coming off him in waves. He swallowed, reaching out to touch Fenrir’s hand but the man shrugged him off. This display of defiance from his pack, from everyone was detrimental to his standing, his reputation and it could not be allowed.

 

“Stand down, Larentia,” Fenrir snarled through his throat, eyes flashing gold. Everyone was just a little too excited. Harry readied himself to stand despite the instincts insisting he do what he could to stay out of the way, crawl under the table if he had to.

 

“No!” Larentia barked, arrogant and defiant as ever. “You must listen to me! You forgave me once for this…this transgression against our ways, you excused me because you knew, you understood my reasons-”

 

“Harry forgave you, not me!” Fenrir snapped. Larentia winced as if physically hurt, her eyes glistening but she did not stand down and she did not surrender. Harry hoped she knew Fenrir hadn’t meant that. After all, she was one of those that knew Fenrir said whatever came to mind in the spur of the moment, especially when angry.

“Regardless, I was given a second chance,” she argued.

 

Kirian crept silently into Harry’s lap. Harry wrapped his arms round him, wondering who was more soothed by the warm contact, Kirian or himself. The little head burrowed into his neck as it used to when he was small.

 

“You were pack, they aren’t!” Fenrir roared.

 

“Stand down, Larentia,” Marrok said softly, gripping her shoulder. She swatted him off and glared up at Fenrir.

 

“We are _all_ the Original Witch’s pack are we not? Made from the same flesh and blood. Or do you believe as they do,” she gestured to Dromon, “they who you hate? Do you believe as they and Targarletum do that some of us are better than others?”

 

_WHACK!_

Fenrir backhanded her across the face. She staggered back a few steps but did not stumble, holding her ground. Harry leapt up, Kirian in his arms.

 

“Fenrir no!” he snapped. “She’s only trying to-”

 

“Do not challenge me,” Fenrir said, voice low, rough, barely restrained. The word challenge registered in Harry’s mind, reminded him where he was. Against his better judgment he listened to the instincts gnawing at the back of his mind and let his mouth fall shut. He watched as Fenrir turned his golden glare on Larentia. He didn’t have to say a word and Harry didn’t have to share a bond with Fenrir to know what was expected. Everyone knew. Larentia’s gaze was glassy but hard, she lifted her chin in defiance for a moment, before turning head head slowly, exposing her throat, yielding, apologising. Fenrir’s fist wrapped around her throat, firm but not hard, pulling her close. She kept her submission, sincere but also not saying a word, not taking back what she’d said.

 

It wasn’t her words that Fenrir protested as such, but the manner in which they were delivered, especially in front of this particular audience. Apparently satisfied with her contrition, Fenrir released her and then turned to look at Harry. Despite the hard mask, Harry felt a pulse of regret through their connection, but it was gone as soon as he met Dromon’s gaze.

 

“You want a lot from my mate,” he said, tone dangerously calm. “You want his gift, you want understanding and patience and his time. His energy. I know that most of you realise that Harry is a gift to you, but even the most outspoken of my pack know when to show they are wrong.” He stared at the blonde beside Dromon. “If your pack cannot look past their own feelings then I will not let my mate waste his time with you.”

 

Kear gripped his father’s shoulder and nodded at Fenrir, then Harry. “Apologies. It’s as your pack mate says, this subject is sensitive for some. I apologise for the disrespect. Please, give us a little more time, you must know what this means to us.”

 

Eyes flicking to the blonde, Harry noticed how contrite she looked, how she no longer dared meet his eyes lest she be forced to submit in the way Larentia had. That was enough for him. Even if he could feel Kirian sniffling softly against his throat. Harry stroked his back absently. “I understand,” was all Harry said.

 

Kear and Dromon looked relieved.

 

“Please, we have had rooms made ready for each of you, they lead off the spring courtyard so the moonflowers will be in full bloom. Perhaps in the morning we can discuss this further?”

 

Harry thought Fenrir might protest, but he knew if they walked away from this place with this altercation hanging over them, he’d never be able to come back. “That’d be great,” he said with a small smile. “My son needs to rest.”

 

Kear nodded, amused and sympathetic. “I’ll show each of you to your rooms. Please, come.”

 

There were rooms for each of them (with Harry, Kirian and Fenrir sharing) leading off a small courtyard filled with night blooming flowers. Every room was identical with the same luxurious furnishings and arched paned windows. The bed in Harry and Fenrir’s room was big enough for even a fully transformed wolf to sprawl on. As Kear shut the door, leaving them to their privacy, Harry approached the mammoth bed and carefully lay Kirian down on it. He’d drifted off on the walk up here.

 

Fenrir stood a few feet behind Harry, radiating wariness. The human part of him still a little angry, Harry did not turn to him at first, instead tucking Kirian in carefully and then leaning back on his knees on the floor with his arms resting on the edge of the plush mattress.

 

“He was upset,” Fenrir said.

 

Harry sighed. “He was tired, it’s been a long day,” he assured him, climbing back to his feet and finally meeting that expression. He looked a little like Kirian did when being scolded. His amusement at that made the remaining anger ebb away somewhat. “I didn’t like that little power play in there but I know why you did it and on some level, so does Kirian.” A smile twitched at the corners of Harry’s mouth. “I know that man I saw in there wasn’t…” He hesitated.

 

Fenrir cocked his head. “Wasn’t what?” he asked cautiously.

 

Flushing, Harry admitted, “That wasn’t my Fenrir. I get that.”

 

Snorting, Fenrir made a show of tugging his shirt off and approaching the large windows, resting his hands on the generous sill. Harry took one last glance to ensure Kirian was sleeping before casting the usual one-way privacy charm that would allow them to hear him but protect him from seeing or hearing things from them. The best spell Mrs Weasley had ever shared with him.

 

With a dramatic sigh, Harry wrapped his arms round Fenrir and pressed his forehead to Fenrir’s shoulder blade. “You’ve given me a headache with all your alpha pheromones,” he mumbled into the muscle. He felt it twitch with Fenrir’s snort of laughter. Harry smirked. “Maybe I should make you show me contrition,” he muttered. That did it. Fenrir turned and flipped their positions so Harry was braced against the sill, staring out at the night blooming garden, Fenrir pressed in close behind. His large hands pinned one of Harry’s to the stone, while the other slid up his shirt to touch his stomach unhindered, nose nestling into the nape of Harry’s neck. Harry arched it, letting him find solace there, finding comfort himself.

 

Everything relaxed. He breathed slowly.

 

“Why do I do these things?” he murmured when the pulsing, uneasy aura had vanished from the room. “Things are going so well this time. It’s like a part of me can’t just sit still and enjoy peace.”

 

A low chuckle vibrated against his neck. “You do it because you want to help people, that’s just who you are. I’ve known that for a long time. Don’t think too much on it - I don’t.”

 

Harry sighed wistfully. “You knew what you were getting into when you chose me,” he mused. He wondered still sometimes if Fenrir would have preferred someone a bit less headstrong.

“It’s part of the reason I wanted you so badly, you know that,” Fenrir answered without hesitation. “That hasn’t changed.” He paused for a breath. “I was proud of you back there in that dining hall. You didn’t take their shit; you took control like the alpha mate should. That’s the man I chose years ago. I know werewolf etiquette can be a bit backward but I want you as you are, alright? Don’t let your hormones or instincts tell you different.” He pulled Harry gently to him then and let his bristly chin brush his ear. “Come to bed?”

 

Harry smirked. “Not for _that_ with Kirian in the bed,” he said.

 

Another low chuckle and Fenrir stepped backward, urging Harry to follow. When they reached the end of the bed, they turned so that Harry’s calf muscles hit the edge of the mattress first. Harry held his gaze as he lowered himself onto the side of the bed opposite Kirian, sliding back until he was sprawled on the plush bedding. Fenrir’s eyes glowed as he surveyed him in a way that was inherently instinctive, appreciate rather than sexual.

 

Tilting his head, Harry gave a small almost-croon and Fenrir rumbled back, kneeling on the end and crawling up his body. The soft, approving growl rumbled continuously in his throat as he sniffed his way up, nose brushing against him every now and then.

 

Harry let his hands slide across Fenrir’s shoulder blades, the small of his back, his hips and closed his eyes, sighing softly. Sometimes this was better and easier than all the words in the world. It was their way of saying everything – just for them. After a while, any lingering tension from earlier dwindled like a dying flame.

 

 

A few hours later when the moon was high outside in the courtyard, Harry gave a final huff before pushing himself out of bed, careful not to disturb Fenrir and Kirian. He’d managed to catch himself an hour or two of sleep before the most horrendous hot flush dragged him awake, twinned with heartburn so violent he felt quite sick. Approaching the bag he’d brought with him, he pulled out the vial of potion he took often nowadays. It slid down his throat, thick and creamy, like spearmint flavoured ice dousing the fire in his throat and chest. Relieved from his heartburn, he stepped out into the courtyard to let the air chase away the risk of overheating.

 

Eithne teased that all these symptoms were sign of a healthy baby but right now, he was not encouraged by that. If he was this uncomfortable only half way through, he dreaded what might happen come the end of his term. His swollen stomach already felt bigger than he’d been with Kirian.

 

Each room lead out onto an elevated platform sheltered by shrubberies and moonflowers. But as Harry approached the balcony rail, he saw movement in the main courtyard below. Squinting slightly, he managed to catch sight of the woman who’d challenged him earlier and…Fyerhyde? With a glance back at Kirian and Fenrir sleeping soundly in the room, Harry slipped quietly down the steps of the courtyard, getting close enough to listen without being seen.

 

“…I know you’re afraid of what it might mean for submissives in your position who can’t reproduce, but I’ve taught him for two months, Lena, he’s a good man,” Fyerhyde’s voice insisted.

 

“His character is irrelevant, it is what his gift will do to those like me who cannot be aided by it that bothers me,” Lena, the blonde from earlier hissed. “It is alright for you, who can finally be accepted into the pack and provide the Alpha with his first natural blood born grandchild. Kear would never take another mate, he is too loyal to his own but you…you and his brother are the perfect start to the Potter boy returning the gift to our kind, aren’t you?”

 

Fyerhyde seemed to hesitate. Her voice was softer. “I know you might feel you and your sister have not been as treasured as Kear’s mother was, purely because she had the gift and you did not. I know you may feel threatened by me and Keenan but you cannot let that stand in the way of putting things right. Potter can bring the joy of children back to our kind again. That’s all that matters. I won’t let you ruin this.”

 

There was a low warning snarl. “I am the Alpha Mate, keep a civil tongue in your head you human harlot.”

 

Harry shifted in his place behind the bushes to see Fyerhyde’s face flame. “I am not the one who has to _share_ my mate,” she seethed. “Mine at least is satisfied with just me and does not need my younger sister as a sweetener.”

 

“You’re not even his mate, our alpha refused you the right because you would not accept the change.” Lena sniffed disdainfully. “His precious first mate may have given him natural sons but they are nothing but a waste if they mix with wasters like you and Kear’s human hag.”

 

Harry saw a flash, saw Fyerhyde’s wand whip across Lena’s cheek. The scent of blood burst into the air and Harry watched with twisted satisfaction as Lena glared darkly.

 

“You be careful human,” she snarled warningly, “Or the whole pack will know of your plot to place yourself as future Alpha Mate, to elevate your spineless counterpart to the top when Dromon retires.”

 

Fyerhyde scoffed, wand still trained on the woman now cupping her bleeding cheek. “You can’t poison our pack with lies anymore, Lena. You nearly cost the pack their chance at the gift today with your behaviour. I think they will place a little less trust in you. It’s you that should be careful.”

 

With that, Harry circled the greenery and strode through the arbour, schooling his face into a neutral expression. Lena gave him and Fyerhyde a final glare before flouncing off and out of sight. As soon as her scent faded, Harry took a seat on the stone bench and sighed. “No wonder you like to escape to Hogwarts,” he mused with a smile. To his relief, Fyerhyde’s expression echoed his. She took a seat on the bench beside him and stared at the moon jasmines that hung from the beams overhead.

 

“it’s a difficult family I married into,” she said at last.

 

Harry blinked. “You and Dromon’s youngest son are married? Like…a normal marriage?”

 

Fyerhyde smirked. “I didn’t want to be a werewolf and give up my chance of having children. He didn’t want to take that from me but we wanted to be…united, I suppose. So we got married.”

 

Harry nodded. “And the pack don’t like you because of that?”

 

Fyerhyd blinked. “Oh, no it’s not like that. Kear, my husband’s brother. you met him earlier? Well his mate is a human too it’s sort of…accepted. Dromon can be a bit of an elitist pig but he loves his sons. His two current mates are just a bit bitter because they’ve never been able to give Dromon the children that his first mate did.”

 

Wincing in distaste, Harry said, “One mate wasn’t enough?”

 

“Dromon believes it proper or something to have two,” Fyerhyde laughed, not unkindly, “Each to their own beliefs; there are many human cultures that promote the same thing, are there not? I think if you weren’t mated already he would have liked you too. He seemed quite taken with you tonight, Kear said he couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

 

Nauseous at the thought, Harry scowled. “He can keep looking,” he challenged, before shooting Fyerhyde a sideward glance. “So…not everyone here thinks like that Lena does? If I share my gift with you and others, you won’t be in danger, will you?”

 

Fyerhyde shook her head. “She’s one of those with all the mouth and no strength or nerve to make good of her word. She’s like a tiger that knows its time has come, having one last fight, you know? Kear or Keenan will become alpha soon and she won’t be top dog, that’s all she’s worried about.” She seemed very sure and Harry had to admit, after seeing how strictly this pack took the rules of the old ways, he knew there would be zero tolerance for harming a breeding sub or cubs.

 

With a long, low sigh, Harry leant back against the stone wall behind him and tried to think. “I guess I need to speak with Severus about making a potion that will show how sincere a pair who want to take the gift are. It has to be genuine on both sides, something both partners can have. I’m sure hell know what to do.” Once he had that, there would be nothing to stop him from…how did Fyerhyde put it? Bringing back children to the werewolf species? He swallowed. That sounded like such a big responsibility.

 

“You and Professor Snape think a great deal of each other, don’t you?” Fyerhyde said. When Harry flushed and said nothing, she added, “And you’re really going to help us? Help me?” her eyes were so open, glistening with the same hope he’d seen in Larentia’s eyes when she’d held Kirian for him that first time. The sympathetic ache in his chest struck so deep that he shifted uncomfortably, wishing he knew the right words to say.

 

As reticent as ever, he just nodded slowly, watching her eyes drift to his stomach. He could sense the yearning like rain about to fall. “Err…do you want to…?” he asked half-heartedly.

 

Her head jerked up to him. “You don’t mind?” she asked, surprised.

 

He did mind, actually but just this once, he could make an exception. He nodded and tried not to visibly stiffen when she tentatively touched his stomach. She seemed to sense his unease because she left her palm only for a moment before withdrawing. “I’ve grown up a witch, but that’s the most magical thing I’ve ever seen and…and knowing you’re willing to share it with me means everything. Thank you.”

 

Again, Harry could only nod, but this time he was sure beyond anything that he was doing the right thing. it was liberating. By the time he made his way back to the room, his hot flush and burning throat had calmed and sleep was tugging once again at his senses. As he reached the balcony, however, he heard voices and stopped just short of the door to listen.

 

“…behaved like an alpha not like a…” Fenrir’s voice halted as he seemed to struggle to find the right word. “Not like a man who takes his pack mate’s feelings into measure.”

 

“We all know outsiders need to see a certain front,” came Larentia’s reply, her voice soft, evidently cautious of Kirian still sleeping on the bed. When she spoke again, Harry could hear the amusement in her voice. “Harry certainly has had an affect on you. You do realise you never apologise or second guess yourself – even when you _are_ wrong.”

 

Fenrir gave a snort of embarrassed indignation that made Harry smile. “Cheers,” he muttered but there was no bite to his voice. “You were trying to make me see both points of view, even though it’s a sore subject for you. I should have reacted better.”

 

There was a short silence. Then a rustling came and Harry craned his neck to just see Larentia standing awkwardly by the door, arms across her chest. “I’m not a delicate flower, I’m not going to break because you chastised me for speaking out of turn-”

 

“It’s me that was out of turn,” Fenrir insisted, voice still hushed for Kirian’s sake. “You were right and I’m sorry you were the one to bend back there.” He stared at her carefully. “You’ve suffered a lot and dealt with it better than most could’ve. I’m proud to have someone like you in this pack.”

 

From where he stood, Harry saw Larentia’s lips twitch into an almost smile. “Harry really has had a positive effect on you,” she mused. “There’s hope yet.” She pulled open the door and as she crossed the threshold added, “Thank you, Alpha,” before closing it softly behind her. Harry gave it a few moments before stepping in off the balcony, feeling quite sleepy and chilly now, crawling onto the bed between Kirian and Fenrir without a word.

 

One of Fenrir’s arms threw over him casually in the silent dark and a callous, rough hand caressed his hip thoughtfully. “Wonder where I’d be if I didn’t have you,” Fenrir mumbled aloud. It was not a question, just a general musing.

 

Harry closed his eyes, pressing his face into Kirian’s hair and letting his body relax slowly. “I wonder the same thing all the time,” he said sleepily. “D’you think you would’ve ever found someone with the nerve to tell you what a pillock you were?”

 

Fenrir snorted, bristly chin brushing against Harry’s shoulder. “Not one like you,” he said huskily, “there’s no one like you. Not for me anyway.”

 

Harry bit the inside of his mouth, feeling oddly mawkish at Fenrir’s tender words. “Me neither,” he said eventually, voice almost lost to sleep. “I think we challenge and complete each other in all the right ways.” The hand on his hip gripped a little tighter in answer. “It helps that you’re pretty good in bed,” he added playfully, still embarrassed by serious emotional conversations no matter how old he got. A soft chuckle dusted over the shell of his ear. He smiled.

 

*                       *                       *

 

After breakfast the next morning, Dromon, his greedy eyes still on Harry, ushered them into a room that reminded Harry a lot of the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Dromon took his place on the dais at the far side of the hall, his sons, his mates and Harry, Fenrir and their pack joining him. The large breakfast Harry had consumed churned in his stomach as he saw the large crowd that filled the rest of the hall, watching them eagerly. It felt like a school assembly, only this time Harry was the focus. He glanced at Kirian, who was partially hidden behind Fenrir’s legs. He felt disturbed at being on display like this. He wished he could hide too.

 

“Is it true that you come to share with us, your gift?” Alpha Dromon asked loudly before everyone with a touch more drama that Harry cared for. He felt Fenrir tense, felt his irritation pique and tried to remain calm himself. It wasn’t something he was known for, especially in his condition.

 

“I do,” he agreed, his voice thankfully neutral.

 

“After the cub is born,” Fenrir added sharply from his side. “The ritual takes a lot out of him.”

 

Dromon’s eyes roved Harry eagerly. “Yes, yes of course! When the cub is born you must all come back and we will host a grand feast before the first ritual!” He was practically gleeful.

 

“But before any ritual, each couple will have to drink a potion to test their sincerity, to avoid abusing the situation,” Harry said, in a tone Hermione would have been proud of. “Aside from that I only have two conditions.”

 

The silence among such a large hall filled with so many people was eerie. Harry risked a glance out across the crowd and saw them all watching him with mixed emotions. Mostly hope and apprehension. He could understand both, he held their future in his hands, after all. Exhaling roughly, he looked back to Dromon, then to his youngest son, who he now knew was Keenan. “Your son Keenan’s wife, I want her to be the first to be…err…gifted.”

 

Dromon looked to his son. Fyerhyde was back at Hogwarts, Harry knew, but her husband looked elevated by surprise and joy.

 

“Of course!” Dromon said quickly, “I’m honoured. My son has always wanted children and his wife will truly be one of us at last.”

 

Harry bristled a little at that, but was used to the blunt way werewolves put things sometimes and so pressed on. “And lastly, your mate Lena,” he began. “She insulted me yesterday. Later I heard her insult your sons and our way of life, the way werewolves do things the old ways.” He saw Lena’s marked face flash with fury. His own pack was ready to defend him, even if he wasn’t capable of defending himself. But he could sense it in her face. She was all bark and no guts to bite. With shameful satisfaction he said, “I want her to apologise to everyone here, right now.”

 

If Fenrir had taught him anything about pack politics, it was that you needed to make an example, make a stand or risk uproar. If he wanted the children he helped to be born into this pack to be safe, he had to make it clear that her bigotry couldn’t be allowed. _And isn’t that just a bit hypocritical statement,_ he thought with a wince, hoping he was doing the right thing.

 

There was silence for a long time. Harry did not tear his gaze from Lena but he could feel Fenrir’s surprise and see Dromon glancing at his mate with the same expression. Lena seemed to be waiting for her mate to step in on her behalf, to protest but everyone watching knew that this was a test – Harry’s test to see what came first, their alpha’s consideration for the welfare of the pack or his mate’s pride. If he could not make the right choice now, how could he be trusted to take care of the future subs who would accept Harry’s gift?

 

“You disgrace me,” Dromon said at last, his voice rough and shamed.

 

Lena bristled. “Alpha, I-”

 

“You disgrace your pack and our way of life! Everything that separates us from the rogues you so loathe.” He spat. “Rogues who are the reason that the humans hate us with the way they plunder and pillage without regard. Show your contrition.”

 

Lena gasped, beginning to tilt her head the same way Larentia had yesterday. Dromon growled warningly. “Not just to me. To everyone here. Submit. _Now._ ”

 

Those eyes widened, her lips moved with the beginnings of protest but she remained silent, glancing to Harry a final time. He kept his gaze hard, unyielding as he’d seen Fenrir do in the face of other packs, other wolves, those he could not trust. Among some at least, he had to project an air of strength, of coolness. It was the way things were done. It worked.

 

Lena dropped her gaze as she slid to the ground, prostrating herself before Harry and everyone else. “I am sorry,” she breathed, her voice hoarse. Harry thought she even sounded sincere, which surprised him. She exhaled roughly before continuing, “I was wrong. I should not have let my fear control my judgement.”

 

A moment or two passed and the soft murmur of speech returned to the crowd behind them. Harry glanced from them to the still prostrate Lena and felt his stomach twist. Leaning down (a little awkwardly thanks to his slightly rounded stomach) he set his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry that my gift can’t extend to you,” he said honestly. She regarded him cautiously, as if trying to gauge his sincerity. Whatever she saw must have been enough, because they rose together to their feet and she covered one of Harry’s hands with hers. She said nothing but Harry (flinching) thought the expression said volumes. He’d seen it before.

 

To his relief, Fenrir spoke next, addressing everyone gathered. His voice brushed through his senses like an abrasive but soothing comb, letting Harry relax from the tension that had held him captive with everyone’s eyes on him. He turned from Lena to Fenrir, to where Kirian quietly made his way to him, sliding a soothing hand into his. When Harry glanced down though, Kirian’s face was bright and proud, turned up to him and Harry smirked as he realised Kirian, like always had sensed his discomfort and was trying to soothe him. His sweet boy, not at all worried about himself or being in front of these people now. Only worried about him. Harry squeezed his hand, before turning his attention to Fenrir’s words.

 

“…when the potion is ready and after my mate has whelped, we will return here to complete the first ritual.” He glanced to Harry. “I think a few days’ stay, maybe. The spell takes a lot of magic; I think one wolf to be a day is enough. You’ll have to decide among yourself how you’ll fairly choose who goes first.”

 

“And if other small packs, if the rogues get wind of this?” a woman’s voice called from the crowd.

 

Fenrir winced but Harry responded unwaveringly. “Tell them,” he said simply. “I don’t mind who I share this gift with, as long as their reasons are sincere. Everyone is welcome.”

 

“And if there’s trouble?” Keenan asked from his father’s side.

 

A dangerous smile touched Fenrir’s lips. “We’re allies now, if they mess with us they mess with all of us, right?” It was a question but it left no room for refusal, not really. Harry fought to keep his face straight. Somehow, they’d wound up with their pack calling all the shots. There was no missing who had who by the ears.

 

“This is the most sacred of offerings to seal a treaty,” Kear said without hesitation. “A partnership, loyalty and respect is the least we can offer for a gift we can all never repay.”

 

Fenrir seemed pleased with that. He gave a nod of acceptance and then touched Harry’s shoulder. “We will head back to our pack now, but we’ll send word when the cub is born.”

Dromon’s eyes flicked to Harry’s stomach eagerly again, fascinated, as if he were a legendary creature. Harry gave a wistful, polite smile, trying to be patient. These people, they’d all suffered a similar pain to Fenrir all those years ago. No man was a monster because he was born that way, circumstance made them like that. Even Voldemort, had ultimately grown into the Dark Lord because of a twisted past. It was not an excuse but it was a reason.

 

“We wish you all the best with your cub, Harry Potter,” Dromon said softly, “We will meet again soon.”

 

To Harry’s surprise, he offered his hand the human way and his smile flickered to life again when Harry shook it. It’d been a strange visit to be sure. His senses still on edge. He was eager to get back home. They walked back outside beyond the protection of the castle walls and took the slow walk back down the grasslands away from the lake. Back surrounded by the wind and the wild grass, Harry had never been so grateful to feel the uncomfortable pull of apparition.

 

When he landed outside the entrance to the Valley, he surged forward, steadying himself on the mountainside as his breakfast painted the forest floor. “Dad?” Kirian asked softly, but Harry shook his head, heaving again. Apparition didn’t agree with a pregnant stomach, apparently.

 

“The cub makes him a bit sensitive, that’s all,” Marrok said gently as he stepped forward, squeezing Kirian’s shoulder before opening the door into the mountain and leading the way inside. Fenrir lingered by Harry, waiting for him to straighten up. When he did so, his face was clammy, fringe sticking to his flushed skin. Harry wiped his mouth on his sleeve and winced. He felt dizzy.

 

“There goes breakfast,” he bemoaned.

 

Fenrir snorted, sweeping Kirian up onto his shoulders. “You _did_ have two helpings,” he said, but he used the hand not gripping Kirian’s ankle to brush Harry’s fringe back from his face affectionately. “Alright?” he asked.

 

Harry nodded. “No more apparating until the baby is here,” he said, stepping into the blessed coolness of the mountain. “You know, Mrs Weasley said morning sickness is worse when you’ve got a girl,” he said with a smirk.

 

“You do seem to be puking your guts up more than when you were pregnant with Kirian,” Fenrir mused.

 

“Gran says cubs grow like flowers,” Kirian said knowledgably, “in your belly.” He dipped his head forward so he was looking directly into Fenrir’s eyes upside down. “Will a baby grow in my belly too?”

 

Fenrir laughed. “No, only people like your dad can grow cubs – it’s a very important job.”

 

“That’s why we went to that place?” he asked, his little brow furrowing as he tried to understand.

 

“Yeah, Kiri, I’m sharing my…my gift with people. Like I did with Draco and Tonks, you understand, right?”

 

Kirian looked thoughtful. “Draco said…you shared your magic, made him like you.”

 

“That’s right,” Fenrir answered this time. “That’s what your Dad is going to do for more people, so others can be as blessed as we are, having you.”

Kirian kicked his legs out against Fenrir’s shoulder, apparently happy with that. He beamed upside down at Fenrir a final time before straightening up so he could stare down at Harry again. “Having a cub is really special,” he said.

 

Harry laughed and let his hand cover his stomach. It really was so different this time, he kept being pleasantly surprised at how easy everything was. A part of him even longed for the moment the baby would move so Kirian could feel it. He knew he was really intelligent, but he wondered if Kirian fully understood, he was still very little. “Very special. And you know you were the first baby born a werewolf for decades, that makes you very important too.”

 

Kirian beamed sheepishly, looking so like Harry then that Harry was momentarily startled by it. “I’ll show the cub how to do things,” he said, seeming certain as he stared ahead now while they walked. “Even if it is a girl.”

 

“Good boy,” Fenrir murmured affectionately, squeezing his little calves as they caught up with the others and approached the gate. Even as it was sliding open, Harry could sense there was something wrong.

 

“Can’t you hear that?” Harry asked under his breath for Fenrir only. The gate was slowly unlocking, the vines unwinding at Marrok’s touch. But panic throbbed in Harry’s throat like bile he couldn’t swallow back down.

 

“I hear it,” Fenrir replied.

 

Harry strained. Kirian’s senses obviously couldn’t stretch that far but it wouldn’t matter soon. “Give Kirian to me,” he said softly. When Fenrir gave him a worried look Harry sighed impatiently. “It was just some morning sickness, I’m fine. Pass him to me.” Kirian slid down Fenrir’s back and into Harry’s arms, his little nose sniffing at the air. When the gates finally shuddered open Harry felt the panic surge and throb through his skin like basilisk venom.

 

“Is someone crying?” Kirian asked.

 

Harry nodded grimly, though it was almost screaming really. He glanced to Fenrir. “It’s Tonks,” he said. “And I can smell blood.” They all could now, as they stepped into the Valley, but Harry’s already sensitive stomach churned at the metallic tang. He gripped Kirian a little more firmly than before, his lifeline. A crowd seemed to have gathered far across the Valley in the stone circle. They headed towards it, trepidation thick among the small group.

 

Tonks was sobbing when they reached them, on the ground in the midst of the circle with Remus kneeling shell-shocked and pale at her side. Some of the pack parted to admit Harry, Fenrir and the others in closer. Harry caught Draco’s grim expression and saw Amoux looking pale and worried, her arms wrapped around Vilkas who had the tiniest fleck of blood at the corner of his mouth. And there between Tonks and Remus, Teddy stood, his eyes wet but no more tears falling, tiny hand clasped over his shoulder where blood stained his shirt. It didn’t take much to realise what had happened.

 

“What’s going on?” Fenrir demanded, stepping forward to stare between the two children. Both boys winced and kept their eyes averted, Tonks was still crying. No one said a word. He looked to Vilkas, eyes hard but his voice as soft and calm as Fenrir’s ever got, just a soft gravelly rasp to it as he leant down to grasp Vilkas’ shoulder. “Tell me,” he said firmly.

 

Villas flicked his gaze hesitantly to him, looking as if it was taking all he had not to cry himself. He visibly swallowed, wiping at his mouth with his sleeve. “We were just playing shadows,” he murmured dejectedly, voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I’m sorry.” He looked to Teddy pleadingly. “ _I’m sorry_.”

 

Harry watched as Fenrir glanced between the boys. “You were playing?” he asked, waiting for both Teddy and Vilkas to nod. “And you bit him?” he asked VIlkas now. It was Teddy that answered, his voice as shaky as Vilkas’.

 

“It was an accident. It was just a game,” he insisted, sniffling.

 

“Are you hurt?” Harry asked Teddy, approaching him and lifting his hand and pushing aside his shirt shoulder to look. There was the tiniest of cuts, probably where Vilkas’ tooth had _just_ chipped his skin. It was diminutive, nothing in the grand scheme of injuries but at the same time, everyone there knew what it meant. Harry especially. He passed his hand over the wound, murmuring softly. When he drew his hand back, the little knick was gone as was the blood. Not even enough to scar.

 

_It is a scar in some people’s eyes,_ his mind supplied. Teddy’s eyes met his and he saw uncertainty there, fear.

 

“Don’t understand,” Teddy said, staring between them, looking to Harry from answers. “Am I like you now?”

 

Harry moistened his lips. Remus was staring at him hard. He knew his thoughts on the matter, his fears, even if he couldn’t understand why. “Yeah,” he said to Teddy, not able to lie. “You were born like me, with dormant werewolf genes. They would have stayed that way unless someone bit you. Vilkas woke it in you like Fenrir did me – although he did it by accident,” he added hurriedly, remembering his ‘awakening’ had been quite a bit less innocent. He cupped Teddy’s head, stroking his wayward hair gently. “It’s alright Teddy. Like you said, it was an accident.”

 

Teddy seemed to be reluctant to look at his parents. “I don’t… Why is everyone mad that I will be like you?” He hesitated. “Is it not good?”

 

The silence that fell was deafening and Harry knew he was not the one who should break it. Remus stood over them, gently coercing his wife to her feet, squeezing her arm calmly until her sobs faded. “We are upset,” Remus told his son, drawing his face upward to look at him, “Because the choice was taken from you. Because… Because we are worried people will take advantage of you the way they tried to take advantage of Harry.”

 

Harry rose to his feet too, bristling a little. He knew Remus partially included Fenrir in that. Though they had grown to respect one another, to even get along, Harry knew Remus would always hold that flicker of resentment for Harry losing his choice in the matter.

 

Sighing in exasperation, Harry took a few steps back. “Things are different now. I just took us out to see the other pack to ensure we had allies to help protect people like us. it’s safer now than it was for me. We’ll make it even safer. We’ll protect you, Teddy, nothing is going to happen to you,” he declared with ferocious determination. “Like your Dad said, it would’ve been nice if you could’ve chosen this for yourself, but accidents happen and there’s nothing wrong with you.”

 

Teddy smiled up at him hopefully, before locking gazes with Vilkas. “I don’t mind being a werewolf. All my friends are. It’s not bad, is it?”

 

Remus tensed, lips parting but Fenrir cut across whatever he’d been about to say. “Your dad and Harry have been working so that the world realises being different, being werewolves isn’t something to worry about. It’s the person that matters, isn’t it?”

 

Teddy blinked, nodding ferociously.

 

Fenrir smirked. “You’re not upset with Vilkas, are you?”

 

Teddy shook his head and Harry felt his throat catch a little as Fenrir urged Vilkas forward. He and the little blond seemed to share an understanding, because Vilkas stood before Teddy, turning his head to the side in humble submission. “I really didn’t mean to,” he said again quietly.

 

Teddy hesitated, then reached out to hold Vilkas’ hand. He smiled up at him. “It’s ok. It didn’t hurt much,” he assured him.

 

Children really were a miraculous thing, Harry thought. In life changing situations, they were the ones that coped, the ones that moved on, forgave and moved passed mistakes so easily. Adults were the ones that poisoned the world with grudges and uncertainty and regret. He remembered his own heartache when he’d realised Fenrir had changed him against his will at the start though and understood how Remus felt. Neither side were to blame.

 

Even more tired than he’d been before, Harry stepped back further to make room as Kirian joined the group, the twins popping up to join their friends. They were like their own little family unit, their own pack. After a few moments, the crowd that had gathered dispersed. Fenrir gestured for Amoux, Remus and Tonks to follow him and as they did so, Harry joined them at the tree by the laundry pool, far enough out of the way of the children. who seemed to be acting as if nothing had happened. They were already almost back to normal.

 

Harry felt the soft hum of Fenrir’s privacy charm in spite of the distance though and only prayed it would be as a precaution only. He didn’t want Fenrir and Remus to clash. “Don’t let your self-loathing affect your judgement on this,” Fenrir said cautiously. “It was an honest mistake. A child’s mistake. Boys play rough and it happens. You have the power to cause some real damage here if you handle this badly.”

 

Remus bristled. “I did not want this life for my son,” he said firmly, then shook his head. “No, that is, I did not want others to choose this life for him. The world is different now, we have made it so but he should still have been able to choose this life for himself if he wanted. Not be forced into it like Harry and I.”

 

“By me?” Fenrir sneered.

 

“It was an accident,” Tonks said, speaking for the first time since everything had happened. Her eyes were red and puffy but she seemed to have regained her composure. She sounded as if she were struggling to keep her voice even. She seemed to be trying to control herself for Remus. “This is Teddy’s home. It’s not like it was for Harry and you. Sweetheart-” But Remus turned away.

 

“In trying to accept what I am I put our son in danger,” he began and his tone was so dredged with self-loathing, so reminiscent of that conversation he’d had with Remus before they’d left on the horcrux hunt all those years ago that it made something in Harry snap.

 

“Enough,” he said sharply. “Enough, Remus. I know you’ve struggled with this for far longer than me, definitely worse but you’ve made progress here. You’ve found peace and happiness. I know what happened to you was awful but you can’t keep doing this. Everyone is entitled to a moan about life now and again but the wolf in you, your life here. It’s a good life, isn’t it?”

 

Remus stared at him. “It is a good life, Harry,” he said softly. “But you are a parent too. You know the at times irrational need for them to be safe. I want Teddy to be whatever he wants, the way you have always strived to give Kirian equal balance between his werewolf side and the wizard in him. You want him to have that choice.”

 

“Teddy can still have a choice,” Harry said, trying to understand. “This doesn’t take that away. I know why you’re upset, it’s a bit of a shock but…” Harry sighed. “Just think, alright? I know I practically implode every time Kirian so much as scrapes a knee so I’m hardly one to talk but Teddy hasn’t lost anything. He’s fine. Don’t make this into something it’s not. Don’t make this about you.”

 

Remus flinched as if slapped. He let his gaze move from his wife to Harry to Fenrir, before turning and heading out beyond the walls of the invisible privacy charm. Harry sighed and dismissed the magic, running a hand through his hair.

 

“He’ll be alright,” Tonks said, cheeks slightly pink. “We both will be. It’s just a shock to see your child like that, as you know.” She squeezed his shoulder. “We love our life here, Harry. I think this just brought it all back for Remus of a time when it was more difficult. Please don’t worry.”

He nodded and watched as she moved after Remus, leaving Harry to slump back into the arms that wrapped round him. He turned his face so his nose brushed against Fenrir’s bicep. Remus was less of a suffocating parent than perhaps he, Harry was, but it was still startling to see his reaction. It made Harry realise how important it was that he learn to let go a little. “I think you should take Kirian out on your village run tomorrow,” he said thoughtfully. He hadn’t realized how much he’d lost touch with his reckless, brazen self when it came to Kirian until now.

 

Fenrir pressed his lips to Harry’s neck, sniffing softly. “Sure?” he asked., evidently thinking of all the trips to the outside villages beyond Shae. “You usually say it’s too far or too risky.”

 

“He’ll be with you,” Harry said. “There’s a difference between suffocating him and protecting him. He’ll be safe with you, you’ll look after him and I…I need to stop being so paranoid. Besides,” he scrunched his face in disgust. “I have homework I need to catch up on.”

 

Fenrir gave a gruff laugh at that that calmed some of the unease that had settled in the air.

 

 

_To Be Continued…_


	6. Dog Tired

Dog Tired

Chapter Six

Harry had known coming back for his resit class at Hogwarts would not be the same as his school days, but the following weeks definitely reminded him of the emergency cramming just before exams – except that cramming was all the time and exams weren’t for two months yet! He found himself growing more and more frazzled and short tempered, though he wondered whether that was more because of his workload or because of the growing child in his belly. It was visible to all now, much to the frustration of his instincts, a definite little bump. But whether his classmates recognised it for what it was or not, he had yet to discover.

 

Studying, ensuring his homework was done and raising a child, all while his body was busy making another little person, it was hard work. It was the fifth time he’d secluded himself away to the library during lunch break and he thought Hermione would be ecstatic if she saw him now. He smiled to himself as he scrawled down some more notes from the Charms text he had open, brushing his fringe back from his eyes. He’d have to remember to tell Hermione how hard he was studying these days. Making her proud was a perk of course and Fenrir and Kirian too, maybe even his parents wherever they were, but he wanted this for himself as much as anything. He had to pass these exams. He _would_.

 

“At it again?” Millicent said as she strode into the library, smiling as she took a seat beside him. “Did you manage to eat anything before you squirrelled away up here, Potter?”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. If only she knew he got the ‘eat more’ talk at home too. He scribbled down some more from the page he was on and then turned to the next chapter.

 

“I did wonder, by the way, is it still Potter or is it Greyback?” she asked, mildly curious.

 

Harry flushed. “I’m not Harry Greyback,” he said, cheeks burning as Millicent beamed, eyes glittering.

 

“Your handwriting is appalling you know,” she added, looking over his notes with disdain. “How can you even read them afterwards?”

 

Snatching back his notes, Harry placed them in the pile they’d been in before starting the next chapter on a new page. “It’s not the appearance that matters really. I can read them fine, but it’s mostly the writing it out that helps me remember things. You know, always been better when doing something rather than reading.” He watched as Millicent smirked, very similar to the lightly affectionate yet derisive way that Draco often did. It must be a slytherin thing, he decided, but before he could find an appropriate come-back to that knowing look, he felt a brush in his stomach, an effervescent feeling that stopped him still.

Without thinking, he reached down, touching his stomach in awe. He’d known it to be true, of course but this, this had made it so real when he’d been having Kirian and it was no less world-changing now. He gave a small, breathless laugh. His and Fenrir’s child was in there, maybe stretching or shifting about a little. Subtle movement to his right reminded him where he was and his flush returned as he realised Millicent was watching him, not only that but that Terry, Romilda and Katie had joined them at the table.

 

“I knew it,” Millicent said shrewdly, keeping her voice down given their setting but loud enough that their table could hear. She looked at his stomach. “How long?”

 

Harry sat up a little straighter. His instincts still hummed uneasily at others knowing, but they settled easily behind his human character nowadays. He wondered if this was how Draco had felt with Astrid. The road wasn’t smooth by any means, but it was not the apocalyptic drama at every turn he’d suffered with Kirian. He knew what Fenrir meant now when he said this was the way it should be.

 

“I’m due two weeks after our final exams,” he said, pleased with how steady his voice sounded. Natural. This wasn’t something he was ashamed of. “Is it weird for you to see?” he asked.

 

Romilda shrugged. “Sometimes wizards can get pregnant via magical means as well, it’s just risky so it’s not an everyday occurrence, but it happens. It is funny to see you with a little bump though…”

 

Harry smirked. “Yeah? I suppose it is,” he glanced down at the small protrusion. It felt so normal. Everything did. “I don’t get very big, it’s all part of nature’s way of making things safer for both of us. Fenrir did explain it to me years ago with Kirian. It’s easier to understand than to explain.”

 

“I’m surprised you have the energy to handle school and your little boy and this all at once,” Katie said, leaning forward with interest. “Harry, you must be exhausted!”

 

“I wanted to have both and I didn’t want to wait for either,” he shifted awkwardly. “I’m not very good with patience. But I have to admit it’s proved harder than I thought. I forgot how tired just…” he hesitated, “just being pregnant makes you.” There, he’d said it. As easy as breathing.

 

“You’re a bloody marvel, Harry,” Terry proclaimed, a little louder than necessary, earning a glare from Madam Pince across the library. He winced and leant in closer. “You realise if you pass your exams you’ll…well I don’t know exactly but it’ll be amazing!”

 

“If,” Harry repeated, “if I pass. We’ll have to see what next month brings.” He winced, staring at the stack of books he still had to copy from. “At the moment I feel a bit like a dwindling light.”

 

Across from him, Romilda snorted. “Nonsense,” she said, opening the next book. “You’re Harry Potter, the Chosen one, if you can face dragons and dementors and You Know Who then you can do this. Come on, there’s forty-five minutes left of lunch. Let’s make the most of them.”

 

*

Feeling exhausted but with more optimism for his exams than he’d felt in a while, Harry headed to Shae after lessons were over to pick up Kirian. Eithne greeted him with bright-eyed delight. “And how is my second great-grandchild doing?” she asked as she walked with him out toward the front garden where Kirian was playing.

 

Harry smiled. “Good. Moving a bit now. Fenrir is convinced it’s a boy.”

 

Eithne’s eyes sparkled. “And you believe it is a girl?” She glanced to Harry’s stomach with a thoughtful smile.

 

Harry hesitated, hand on the door handle. “Is there a way you can tell?” he asked, intrigued by the look on her face.

 

She beamed at him, her wrinkles deepening as she did so. “Now, that would be telling, wouldn’t it? There may be a little spell we can do to check. Would you be interested if there were?”

 

“Maybe,” Harry said, wondering if Fenrir would be annoyed at him for making the choice without him. Probably. “I’ll ask Fenrir,” he mused, pushing the door open and heading out into the garden. Kirian was in the nearby flowerbed, scooping generous mounds of dirt over open holes that Harry assumed carried seeds. To his surprise, Teddy sat on the opposite side of him, apparently helping. They chattered animatedly as they ‘worked’ and Harry was struck with relief that nothing had changed between them.

 

“Have you seen much of Remus lately?” Harry asked Eithne.

 

“He’s kept to himself but otherwise normal,” she regarded the boys knowingly, “he feels a father’s responsibility, that is all. He will come around. Do not take it to heart, Harry.”

 

Nodding, he approached the boys and smiled warmly as their heads swivelled toward him. “Ready to go home messy boy?” he asked Kirian, who smiled sheepishly, wiping his dirty hands on the grass.

 

“Are you alright, Teddy?” Harry asked as Eithne stepped forward to wipe Kirian’s hands clean.

 

Teddy, climbed to his feet. “Can I come have dinner with you soon?” he asked curiously.

 

Harry hesitated. “Err, lemme ask your dad, yeah? Maybe this Friday.”

 

Teddy looked a little deflated.

 

“is everything alright?” Harry asked cautiously, watching Teddy wipe his hands on his jeans.

 

“I don’t think Dad wants me to play with the pack anymore,” he murmured solemnly, causing Kirian to grip Harry’s robes and glance up at him worriedly.

 

“I’m sure that’s not true, Teddy,” he said consolingly, squeezing Kirian’s shoulder. He glanced up at the sight of movement beyond the garden wall. “Is it, Remus?” Everyone’s eyes followed his to where Remus stood, half way into the garden. He seemed to hesitate, meeting his son’s gaze with uncertainty.

 

“They’re…family, Ted,” Remus said after a long moment. “I know none of them would hurt you intentionally. There’s nothing wrong with you or them, just me.”

 

Harry felt his chest ache and Teddy frowned, heading toward his father and wrapping his arms round him. “S’Kay, Dad,” he mumbled into Remus’ stomach. It was a touching moment, one Harry felt a little invasive for watching. Remus smiled sadly as he touched his son’s head of currently mousey hair. Remus was having a hard time of it but he’d be alright.

 

“Come for dinner tomorrow,” Harry said to Remus, “All of you. I think it’d be good. I think…I think you need it.” He felt Kirian’s hand slide into his and gripped it tightly. Children were more apt at seeing when comfort was needed, he thought.

 

“Tomorrow,” Remus said softly and Harry steered Kirian back inside to floo back to their reception room.

 

“The baby moved today,” Harry said that night as he eased himself onto the edge of the bed after putting Kirian to sleep. Fenrir turned onto his side, wrapping an arm round Harry and brushing his lips against his hip. Harry glanced down at him with a smile. “I err…think I outed myself to my class. They didn’t seem to mind too much though. They seemed to think it was quite normal.”

 

Fenrir smirked. “You’re far too extraordinary to be ‘normal’,” he mused, hand sliding across Harry’s bare stomach. “You’re more confident than you were when you carried Kirian. I like it.” His calloused fingers caressed the bump and Harry shivered but in a pleasant way, laying his own hand on the opposite side, willing the bubbling sensation to return.

 

“I feel more calm at any rate, for obvious reasons,” Harry snorted. “I think…I know who I am now, you know? Pregnant or not. Parent or not. Werewolf or not. I’m not scared being pregnant will change me. It’s still a bit…well, a bit weird I admit but it’s in a good way. And Fleur and every other woman I’ve spoken to said it’s weird for them too sometimes. It’s not a ‘girl’ thing it’s just a…parent thing. Having someone growing inside you.” He slid onto his side so Fenrir could spoon against his back, covering Fenrir’s hand with his own on his stomach. “There’s no danger or heartache just…life’s little dramas, you know? It’s good.”

 

“You sound almost giddy,” Fenrir chuckled, grazing a shoulder with his bristly lips. He prodded gently with his fingertips. “Come on, move for your alpha.”

 

Harry laughed. “She might be asleep. Don’t poke,” he said, lifting his head and letting Fenrir’s other arm slide under it as it usually did, fingers brushing at his fringe affectionately.

 

“She might be a he,” Fenrir said against his shoulder.

 

“There’s a spell Eithne said she can do,” Harry hedged. “You know, if you want. A lot of people in the muggle world do it to prepare themselves and…stuff.” He flushed at how immature that sounded, especially for a man in his twenties about to be a father for the second time.

 

“If you want,” Fenrir said cautiously.

 

Harry craned around to catch a glimpse of his face. “You don’t want to?”

 

“I want to do things properly this time, the way we had stolen from us with Kirian.” He pressed his nose to Harry’s nape, all the better to smell him and stop him from seeing his expression. “I want to be the one with you when you whelp. I want to tell you what sex it is, to heal you. Bite the cord. Watch you clean him. Or her,” he amended with an audible smirk. “But if you want-”

 

“-No,” Harry said, turning in Fenrir’s arms to look at him. Those eyes were soft and bright in the dimness, the backdrop of the drapes around the bed making everything feel so warm and dreamlike. “No. I want that too.” He watched as a smile crossed that mouth before he felt it, brushing against his own, drawing a soft gasp from him. Large hands slid up his back, his shoulders, tugging gently at his hair, his backside, sliding over his stomach until he was tingling all over. He hummed softly in appreciation. “Why do we seem to have all these conversations in bed? Our most life altering ones?”

 

Fenrir chuckled against his jaw. “Because this is the place that is ours to talk about what we want, no interference from the outside.”

 

“Our bubble,” Harry murmured thoughtfully, his own fingers skittering down over hard muscle. A kiss to the sensitive place just behind his ear preceded his answer.

 

“Yeah,” Fenrir mumbled. “I like the word ‘ours’.”

 

Harry groaned, gripping one of Fenrir’s wrists in each hand and pushing, pushing until he pinned them above his head, throwing a leg over his waist until he was staring down at him. The heat of their bodies coming together was as sweet as ever and with hormones and instincts thrumming beneath the surface, it made Harry ache with the need to reaffirm their connection. Often. He growled softly, leaning down to smash their lips together, grinding into him. “ _Mine_ is good too.”

 

Fenrir growled back, biting at his jaw in approval.

 

*                    *                       *

 

Harry awoke to a large hand stroking down his back then round to his stomach. He stretched languidly as a stubbly kiss graced his neck. Then he smelled the food. “Mmm,” he mumbled agreeably, turning to catch that mouth with his own. He felt the chuckle against his lips and rolled over to hold Fenrir into the kiss for longer, until he could let him go. When he drew back enough to look into those eyes, he smiled sleepily, revelling in the warm hand on the swell of his stomach.

 

“Is that smile for me or for the food?” Fenrir murmured teasingly.

 

With a smirk, Harry pushed up under the sheets, looking down at the tray of bacon, eggs, toast and sausages Fenrir had brought in. He cocked his head. “You’ve never bring me breakfast in bed,” he said thoughtfully, mind still half asleep.

 

Fenrir snorted, pulling the plate forward and setting it on Harry’s lap. “I didn’t realise you wanted it,” he said dismissively, but there was an edge of evasiveness in his tone as he sat back against the headboard, letting Ghost lay his head on his stomach.

 

Stomach rumbling, Harry tore his gaze away from the sight and tucked into his breakfast. At first Fenrir lay beside him, stroking Ghost’s ears absently, eyes shut. But as Harry struggled with the last mouthful, he noticed that Fenrir was watching him. Swallowing, Harry flicked his hand at the tray and it floated off to the far side of the room. “What is it?” he asked, wary. “I’ve gotten used to you watching me over the years but you’ve never watched me eat like that before.”

Fenrir’s brow furrowed and Harry knew before those lips formed words that he wouldn’t like what he was about to say.

 

“I know you’ve been skipping breakfast a lot of mornings to cram in more time with Kirian and to get your school work done,” Fenrir said, avoiding his eyes. “I’m guessing you do the same at that school.”

 

Harry tensed and the anger and defensiveness in him must’ve passed through their connection because Fenrir’s head whipped to face him.

 

“I’m just worried, alright?” Fenrir managed gruffly. “You’ve taken a lot on at once. You and the cub need food.”

 

Harry shoved the blankets off and stalked into the washroom, cleaning himself roughly before snagging up a towel. As he dried himself, he caught sight of Fenrir in the doorway watching him. “You’ve already cheapened a nice gesture by insinuating I can’t look after myself and my child. Piss off before you dig yourself an even bigger hole, Greyback.”

 

Fenrir bristled, growling lowly. “Don’t call me that,” he sneered darkly. It most likely reminded him of the beginning, of the time when Harry had hated him and everything he stood for. At that moment, Harry didn’t really care.

 

“It’s better than the name I was calling you in my head,” Harry snarled, shoving past him and heading into the living area. He seized his clothes from the nearest shelf and hurriedly dressed. He felt Fenrir behind him and this time it was him that growled warningly. “What do you want?”

“I want you to think about yourself for once,” Fenrir snapped sharply, seizing Harry’s arm and whirling him to face him. “Between sharing your gift and the cub and Kirian and me and sodding Hogwarts you’re stretching yourself too thin. You’re putting the cub in danger.”

 

Harry’s eyes flared, the wolf snarling inside his head. “Like last time with Kirian, you mean?” he hissed darkly. “When I failed him at everything. You think I’m failing just as spectacularly this time?”

“Stop overreacting,” Fenrir retorted. “I never said any of that bollocks.” He reached for him but Harry stepped back. Fenrir’s face turned hard. “So I’m not even allowed to care about you anymore? Has your time in the Wizarding World reminded you how little you need me?” He didn’t sound hurt, only angry, but Harry could sense the mixture of both. The problem was, he was feeling both as well.

“Well it’s certainly not taught you any tact,” Harry hissed, even if that didn’t really make sense. “Did it occur to you that if I’m stretched so thin, I really need this argument and your judgement of my parenting skills like a hole in the head? That maybe I need you on my side?”

 

Fenrir scowled. “I am on your bloody side, you ungrateful little prick. Have I stopped you from doing anything you wanted this year? Or ever?”

 

The truth in that only made Harry angrier. Desperate. He wanted to leave. He wanted to hide. “Just say it – you think I’m taking risks with the baby, right?”

 

“Your…hormones or whatever, they’re making you unreasonable,” Fenrir replied sharply.

 

“Unreasonable, selfish _and_ reckless,” Harry drawled. “That about sums it up.” He finished dressing, gesturing with his hand for Ghost to follow him toward the door. “You can’t ever just do something nice without pissing all over it with your overprotective, superior alpha bollocks can you?” he snapped, yanking open the door.

 

‘You’re overdramatizing everything,” Fenrir tried.

 

Harry turned to face him in the open doorway. “I’ll be sure to add that to the list as well,” he said. “I’ll grab lunch at Hogwarts while I’m there, don’t worry.”

 

“Hogwarts on a Saturday?” Fenrir demanded, but Harry had already slammed the door behind him.

 

He managed to calm down somewhat as he sought Kirian out by the climbing frame carved from trees that had failed to thrive there. When he saw Draco talking with Larentia close by, however, he made for them first. “Coming to see Snape?” he asked Draco, who raised a brow at his tone and evidently flustered expression.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Draco said cautiously, slowly. “Are you quite alright?”

 

Harry nodded jerkily, making toward the climbing frame, only to have Larentia’s voice halt him. “Would you…mind if I accompanied you?” she asked. Her tone was so polite that it threw Harry and he stared. “You shouldn’t let your mouth hang like it’s the most shocking question you’ve heard.”

 

Harry swallowed. “No, no I just…” He scrubbed at the hair at the back of his head. “Yeah. I’m leaving in a sec but you can come.” A little off kilter from his mood now, he approached the frame, where Kirian swung down off the nearest branch to beam at him.

 

“I’m going to see Professor Snape. Do you want to come?” he asked, the widening grin was all the answer he needed and the warm little hand in his was a soothing balm to his frayed senses.

 

*                     *                     *

 

“it is impressive but the invigilators will not be interested in the facts,” Snape said dryly, handing the parchment with Harry’s mock exam back to him. “They aren’t interested in the facts. They _know_ the facts. The exam paper is about proving that you know it. Every statement has to be backed up with evidence and research, as if you have to prove your knowledge.”

 

Harry frowned thoughtfully. “So it’s not enough to know it. I have to show how I know it?”

 

Snape smirked. “After all these years you finally comprehend. Good things do come to those that wait.”

 

“Sod off,” Harry grumbled good naturedly as Kirian continued to move the brightly coloured potion vials into the correct order Snape had advised in the racks. “Are you sure he’s alright handling those?”

 

Snape glanced over to the child. “He has respect and interest for potions, which is more than you ever had. He will do just fine.” Snape looked across the table to where Larentia and Draco sat, Astrid yawning widely from the crook of Draco’s elbow. Apparently she was teething and had kept Draco up all night with it, it showed. There were dark circles under Draco’s eyes but he looked content as ever.

 

“Your daughter looks well, Draco. She has grown considerably since last I saw her,” Snape said with his usual reserved affection.

 

Draco beamed, practically preening like a bird. He looked down at the little girl dressed in browns and creams and smiled proudly. “She is remarkably splendid. I am quite sure there isn’t a little girl alive that could match her for beauty.”

 

“Quite,” Snape drawled, just as one of the elves appeared with tea, levitating the cups and saucers silently before each of them with a supply of malted milk biscuits before vanishing with a pop. Harry watched as Draco handed a biscuit to Astrid, who started gumming it contently, bringing a smile to Harry’s lips. Perhaps it was his acceptance that doing this again would not be what it had been with Kirian, even in spite of his argument with Fenrir, but the sight of Astrid made him ache for the moments like that, where Kirian had been that small, soft and helpless. Across the room, his little boy was being very important and not so little at all.

 

“…and Tonks are planning more, but they are waiting for her to finish her course so that she can teach new aurors rather than be out in the field. After Harry, I will wager she’s next,” Draco was saying as he sipped his tea.

 

Harry glanced surreptitiously to Larentia, who must have felt a twinge of longing at the topic. He kicked Draco under the desk, hoping that would be enough to silence him even if Draco didn’t know exactly how he was putting his foot in it. “Did Remus seem alright when you saw him today?” Harry asked Larentia, who’d been in charge of the village run that morning.

 

She shrugged. “He seemed better. He’s an old dog set in his ways is all. He’s got a good life and he knows it. Lycanthropy isn’t the disease he thought it was, don’t worry so much about him, you’ve got enough on your plate.” Her voice was firm, blunt but filled with warmth that made Harry smile softly.

 

“He is not such an old dog, by werewolf standards,” Severus mused dryly.

 

Larentia met his gaze in slight surprise, “Indeed,” she said simply.

 

For a moment there, Harry felt like he was intruding and he shifted uncomfortably. “Kiri, come and have some biscuits,” he said by way of alleviating the awkwardness, “your favourite. The elves remembered.”

 

After the biscuits were all gone, Draco excused himself to go and show Kirian and Astrid around the grounds. Snape excused himself to check on a potion in the adjoining room and Harry seized his chance. Leaving Larentia leafing through a novel she’d plucked off Snape’s shelf, he headed into the other room.

 

“There is something bothering you,” Snape said without looking up from the clear crystal cauldron that was boiling a hearty gold concoction within. His wrinkled brow was furrowed with concentration. “And I do not believe it is your essay.”

 

Harry sighed, stepping closer. “Am I so obvious?” he asked dismally.

 

Snape did not glance up from the potion but did set the pestle down, turning a small hourglass upside down to time. He rapped it with his wand once before finally meeting Harry’s gaze. “Troubles with your…less than eloquent other half?” Snape drawled.

 

Harry sighed. “Be nice,” he said.

 

"Nice is impractical, Potter. Suffice to say if you are looking so ponderous about whatever you two have inevitably squabbled over, you are likely seeing some truth in whatever ridiculous thing has come to his mouth."

 

With a wince, Harry thought of that morning, of how Fenrir’s warm morning face had shifted into one of hurt as Harry’s shaky temper cracked. He wished he could do as Draco always did and blame hormones or instincts or whatever but he knew really, it was just a fault of his character. They always squabbled, of course but it had felt different this morning – personal. Perhaps worse because he’d overreacted. Maybe. Just a bit.

 

Sighing heavily, Harry rested his head on a pile of books and closed his eyes. Beneath his hand, the baby kicked softly.

 

“I take your dramatics as a ‘yes’,” Severus drawled as Harry sat back in his chair to look at him.

 

“Maybe,” Harry grumbled. “Do you…?” He chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment, a bad habit that was only growing more frequent as the stress of his nearing exams and everything else swelled. “You always tell me how it is. Do you think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew? Have I been… _selfish_ in trying to do this all at once?”

 

“Are those the words your werewolf used?” Snape asked with a raised brow.

 

Looking away quickly, Harry ran his fingers thoughtfully around the edges of the stacked books before him. “Not in so many words,” he said evasively. It all felt incredibly stupid now and he felt heavy in his chest at the memory of it. He sighed again. “He said he was worried I was stretched too thin.”

 

“Ah,” Snape said. The timer at his elbow turned gold then and he stirred again, clockwise this time with the pestle. Only after he’d laid it aside and extinguished the flames under the cauldron did he look at Harry. He regarded him with an expression so similar to the one Dumbledore used to give him, resigned affection and frustration. “You are an impatient little nuisance, Mr Potter,” Snape said after a while of consideration. “You see what you want and you leap. Reckless to the end. You have thrown yourself in the deep end by insisting on doing all this at once, however it is just a part of your character and after five years I am assuming your wolf not only tolerates it but finds it sickeningly endearing in his own uncouth way.”

 

The words were brutal but the tone that delivered them carried no malice. Harry felt sheepish as he glanced up cautiously into dark eyes from across the bench. “That’s the advice you’re giving me?” he asked dryly. “You’re saying yes I was impatient and stupid but Fenrir loves me anyway?”

 

Snape raised a brow and approached the door to the lab, setting his hand on the ornate handle. “Quite astute of you, Potter. I would hasten to add that, if you can manage to do everything at once you will make a lot of people very proud. Would you like to know the recipe for success?”

 

Harry blinked, feeling stupid and eleven years old again all of a sudden. “Sir?” he said, voice a little rough with emotion.

 

“Balance, Mr Potter, in all things,” Snape advised, moving to pull the door open, but Harry covered his hand quickly.

 

“Wait, there was…I mean I was thinking earlier about something and…” He hesitated. It wasn’t his business, it wasn’t even really his place but he knew Larentia would never ask. She would kill him, after she thanked him, maybe. Drawing in a breath for courage he blurted, “I know you’ve helped us a lot already with deciphering the Original Witch’s ritual and making that potion for us to give people wanting to share my, errr, _gift_ , but there’s one person I can’t help as easily as everyone else. There’s nothing I can do to help her but I saw her earlier, I saw the way she…” He shrugged uncomfortably. “The way she looked at you. Or, the way she smelled when she looked at you was…you know?”

 

Snape glared and Harry frowned. “Well don’t make me say it. The idea freaks me out but I know what I felt, she’s…interested and you’re both stubborn and self-deprecating and…” He stopped short. They both had their pasts, their loss and he felt a little childish admitting even in his head, but he wanted Snape to have someone. It seemed too unfair, too wrong that after everything he would still be alone.

 

“I am not even going to ask how she _smelled_ when she looked at me, you meddlesome child but I will thank you not to set me up just because you believe I am incapable of–”

 

“You’re not incapable, just stubborn and… _loyal,_ ” Harry added softly. There didn’t need to be anymore said. They knew how far to the line they could walk when it came to the subject of Lily. This was about it. Snape stared hard into Harry’s face and Harry willed him to understand what he was thinking without having to say it. _You don’t have to be alone forever just because you loved her and she died._ When Snape said nothing, _did_ nothing, however, Harry just sighed and reached for the door handle himself.

 

“Just…consider it,” he said, “Thank you for your advice, Sir.” He headed out into the room, approaching Larentia who looked up from the book she was reading.

 

“All done?” she asked, rising to her feet at Harry’s nod. She smiled and closed the book, turning to put it back on the shelf.

 

“Borrow it, if you wish,” Snape said as he followed Harry into the room, passing him by and considering the spine of the book Larentia still held. “Thomas Hardy. A good choice.”

 

Larentia’s smile twisted a little at the corners and she pulled the book back to her chest. “Thank you,” she said cautiously, evidently feeling almost as awkward as Harry did. “I shall be sure to let you know what I think of it.”

 

Snape nodded and Harry thought he hadn’t blushed so hard since he was a teenager as he hastened out the door.

 

Later, as night settled in, with Kirian tucked in bed with Ghost, Harry found himself waiting on his own bed for Fenrir, who had been absent from dinner. He was just starting to doze against his will when the door opened. Harry sat up as Fenrir entered, meeting his gaze across the room and through the voile curtain. As he moved closer, Harry knelt forward until he was on the edge of the bed and Fenrir, rather than stop short just knew. He knew to halt just before him and fluidly reach down for him just as Harry reached up, catching his neck and bringing their lips together, firm but sweet.

 

“Sorry,” Harry breathed against those lips, even as they continued to meld together, wet and warm, Fenrir’s hands sliding up his back and pulling him in so that the only space between them was that required by his stomach. “I’m such a twat, I’m so sorry,” Harry gasped and Fenrir answered him with a growl, breaking their kiss and staring down at him with blue eyes that were so bright at that moment they were startling.

 

“You’re a great dad to Kirian. You always have been, don’t ever say any different,” Fenrir said firmly, sliding a hand to stroke his stomach. “And don’t ever walk away from me in anger again.”

 

Harry shook his head, eyes fluttering shut as he rested his head under Fenrir’s chin and just breathed. “How do you put up with me?” he asked into the stubbly throat, grazing the flesh with his lips. It smelled good. He whined softly and Fenrir echoed it.

 

“I s’pose I must love you,” Fenrir grunted. “It’s not too much of a hardship.”

 

Harry laughed and bit gently.

 

*                    *                    *

 

A sharp hiss dragged from Harry’s lips, hand flying to his stomach that was round enough now that he was sitting at an awkward angle at the table. All eyes in the Great Hall flew to him and Harry shifted uncomfortably, massaging his stomach. “It seems really active lately,” Romilda said brightly as she popped a chip into her mouth.

 

“Right in the kidney that one,” he groused good-naturedly, before pulling at the top two buttons of his shirt as a hot flush began to burn through him. He resisted the urge to push his own plate of chips away from him though. He needed food. The baby needed food. And he was nervous.

 

“Maybe it’s nervous about the first exam too,” Terry put in with a grin. “Reckon it knows you’re going to chunder at the sight of the Potions Theory.”

 

Katie swatted him hard. “Don’t listen to him, Harry. You’ve spent more time studying than I remember even Hermione Granger doing.”

 

Harry doubted that but he knew what she meant and nodded as he continued with his chips. “I just want to do alright, that’s all. I have to,” he said. So many people had expected so much of him and while that wasn’t the only reason he was doing this, he wanted to make them proud. Fenrir, Snape, McGonagall, Dumbledore, his parents, Sirius, all of them, wherever they were.

 

“I think I’ll feel better when all of them are over,” he said, shoving the last few of his chips between his slice of bread and taking a big bite.

 

“But then it’ll be over and we’ll have to leave Hogwarts again, Romilda said solemnly and Harry felt his mouthful sink into his belly a little too heavily. Even with the stress, he had enjoyed being at Hogwarts again. It would be difficult to let it go. He would still visit Snape, McGonagall and Hagrid, of course but still…

 

The bell rang and Harry wolfed down his last few bites as they all stood. They had to vacate the hall while the desks were set for their first exam. As he left the hall, however he was sure Snape gave him a look that inspired such confidence that he felt just a little less sick.

 

When he opened his paper with a feeling of dread, Harry stopped. _Read the brewing instructions for Felix Felicis below and correct the two disastrous mistakes therein._ He smiled to himself. It was going to be alright. He started writing; his little bump thumping more gently against his stomach this time.

 

*                    *                    *

 

“Busy week?” Fenrir asked as he walked into the den a week later. It was dinner time but Harry was curled up in front of their own private fire in the den with his food, the pillows plush and comforting around him.

 

“Last exam is Monday,” Harry said, eating his steak with relish. He saw Fenrir smirk at the euphoric expression on his face as he sat just in front of him, pulling Harry’s feet into his lap.

 

“Nearly there,” he growled softly, pressing his thumb into the arch of Harry’s foot. They didn’t hurt so much, but they’d swollen a little as he neared the end of his pregnancy and the firm kneading felt so good Harry groaned again around his mouthful. Fenrir chuckled and continued. “You’re eating lots, I like it.”

 

Harry feigned a glare. “Your child is a gannet,” he said by way of excuse as he pierced another section of steak, catching some mash on the way. “Are we still going to Eithne when Kirian has finished dinner?”

 

With a smile, Fenrir nodded. He was quietly thoughtful for a moment before he said, “If you’d wanted more…’wizarding’ things to do about the baby you should’ve said so, you know. We’ve gone past the point where I begrudge all things wizard.”

 

“It’s not that at all,” Harry said simply, setting his now empty plate aside and laying both hands on his four-and-a-half-month pregnant belly. “I didn’t realise I wanted it until Eithne mentioned it. And then Romilda and Katie, they wanted to know if we’d had a scan and the idea…sort of stuck.” They lay silently like that together for some time, enjoying the crackle of the fire, Harry’s feet tingling pleasantly.

 

“Eithne made the new baby a blanket, you know, since Kirian is still…partial to his,” Harry said, wriggling his toes. He could’ve sworn he felt the baby do the same and rubbed gently over the spot, secretly savouring the way Fenrir’s eyes blazed warm and gentle when he saw. Just for him.

 

“How are you feeling?” Fenrir asked after the comfortable silence and foot rub had lulled Harry into a slumped position against the cushions, eyes closed.

 

Harry’s eyes flew open as he jerked back from a doze. “Hmm?” he asked ineloquently.

 

Fenrir smirked. “Around this time with Kirian you started behaving…oddly. You’re not feeling anything like that?”

 

“I don’t really remember a lot of it,” he admitted sheepishly, “the instincts just sort of…took over, you know? I suppose it’ll take over when I’m ready.” He wondered if it would be different at all without the pressure of Voldemort and the rogue pack bearing down on him. He wasn’t sure. He remembered turning into a wolf and lunging at Conall like a possessed demon vividly even now and swore he could feel blood filling his mouth at the memory. He swallowed hard.

 

“it’ll be fine this time,” Fenrir promised pushing his feet off his lap to crawl over him, hands cradling his stomach either side of Harry’s and nose pressing against his neck. “It’ll be ours and it’ll be the way it was meant to be.”

 

Harry nodded slowly, eyes closed as that mouth slid up to his tenderly, easing away the apprehension and anxiety that Harry hadn’t even felt brewing until it was choking him. “I’ve enjoyed it this time round,” Harry admitted, “I know it’s had the usual ups and downs but it’s felt… _good_. I don’t know why I’m so worried when nothing is wrong,” Harry mumbled.

 

Fenrir leant back enough to meet his gaze fully. “Because you like to have everything under control and this is one thing you can’t,” he said easily, without hesitating and Harry knew it was true. That was the beauty of their connection. It wasn’t a stream of the other’s conscious thoughts just…a feeling. Things that only years together could teach them.

 

“Did I miss it?!” An excited shriek sounded as the door opened and Kirian flew in, Ghost hot on his heels and a cool summer’s evening draft following after. Harry beamed at Kirian’s enthusiasm, pulling his shoes on as Fenrir pulled Kirian up onto his shoulders.

 

“Are we still going?” Kirian demanded eagerly. “Come on. I want to see the baby!” His little hands gripped Fenrir’s hands that held his legs and wriggled like a child riding a horse that was trying to make it go faster.

 

“It’ll still be there whether we take five minutes or half hour, Kiri,” Harry mused, but his excitement was infectious and a bit of a relief too. He’d been worried Kirian would feel pushed out or jealous but he seemed more interested since he’d been able to start feeling his sibling move. As if it’d made it more understandable. More real.

 

Fenrir went first with Kirian and then Harry followed with Ghost. When he stepped through the floo, Eithne was waiting, setting aside her knitting at the first flare of the flames and now reaching for Kirian, who all but leapt into her arms and squeezed her before dropping down to the floor. “Will I be able to see inside your belly?” Kirian asked as Harry brushed soot off himself.

 

“You certainly will, that’s the beauty of magic,” Eithne said warmly. “But let’s get your father comfortable first. It’s tiring work, growing an entire person.” She gestured toward Harry, who flushed a little but smiled at Kirian’s confused frown. He gripped Ghost’s fur thoughtfully as if for support before reaching for Harry’s hands, tugging him toward the closest armchair.

 

“Come on Dad. You need to rest,” he said, backing up as urged Harry into the chair as if he were an old cripple.

“I’m alright, don’t listen to your Gran. I’m fit as a fiddle,” Harry assured him. “Just a bit tired, that’s all.” He watched as Kirian nodded resolutely, but with a determined, protective edge to his expression. The bond between them seemed to have matured over the last few months, the ability Kirian had to calm him no matter what strengthening with his independence. Harry felt relaxed as Kirian dipped his head to rest his ear to Harry’s stomach.

 

“It just sounds gurgly,” he said, looking up at Harry and Fenrir with a worried face. “Are you sure it’s still in there?”

 

Fenrir smirked, sitting on the footstool next to Harry. Eithne pulled one of the other chairs close and spread a crisp roll of parchment out on her lap, about 6 inches long. When it was flat she rested her palm on the surface and then pulled her wand out. “Let’s find out, shall we?” she suggested, gesturing at Harry’s stomach. Harry pulled his shirt up, only a little uncomfortable with all eyes on him.

 

“Feels bigger than with Kirian,” he said, mostly to himself. It was still nowhere near that of a pregnant witch or muggle at full term but it was definitely a little larger than the first time. He was sure of it.

 

“They get bigger each time,” Eithen assured him. “More room to grow. It’s normal.” She rested the tip of her wand against his stomach and traced a figure eight over his skin. Over and over again, slow and steady. As she did so, as they watched, a soft golden glow began to emanate from the place below her wand tip and her other palm where it was pressed to the page.

 

“Oh wow,” Kirian whispered in awe, gripping Harry’s arm excitedly as he strained up on his toes to look at the parchment. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off it either. His stomach felt warm and tingly and just then, a soft kick bumped Eithne’s wand. She chuckled and Harry smirked as she finished a final cycle of her wand before drawing back, holding the parchment out to them.

 

It had been filled with a black and white image, a _moving_ image like a wizarding photograph except it was the baby printed on the page. It was very similar to a muggle ultrasound (the one Harry had seen of Dudley in the Dursley living room) only this had a more definite outline. Clear and crisp. He swallowed as the picture circled, the baby sucking his or her thumb before kicking up clearly and looping round again.

 

“There’s really a person in you,” Kirian breathed, staring at it. “Really _really_.”

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, feeling a little choked as he saw Fenrir’s expression. Warm and content and at peace. Happy. Harry had given him that feeling. He was glad.

 

“I wish we’d have got one of Kirian,” Harry said thoughtfully as he gave the picture to Kirian to look after until they got home. He seemed very important with this task and even seemed to stand a little straighter. Fenrir just gripped Harry’s shoulder and brushed his nose against his ear as he stood. There was nothing that could be said about that, he supposed and it didn’t really matter. Harry felt lighter than he had in weeks. Even if he did have one more exam to survive in the coming week.

 

“Thank you, Eithne,” Harry said as he hoisted himself out of the chair, pulling his shirt back down into place. Her wrinkled face creased further with a smile.

 

“You’re sure you don’t want to know?” she asked delightfully.

 

Harry hesitated, then felt Fenrir squeeze his hand, a signal for him to do whatever he wanted. But still… “We’ll wait. I want Fenrir to tell me what it is,” he said sheepishly as she beamed knowingly.

 

“Just so,” she said, gesturing for the fire. “Now off with you. At least two of you need your rest.”

 

*                       *                       *

 

Harry sat back from his examination paper and glanced up at the hour glass trickling away at the front of the hall. Ten minutes to go. He sighed. There was literally nothing he could do now. He’d answered every question, tried to provide valid reasoning for every answer and as he met McGonagall’s gaze across the room, he only hoped it would be enough. His exams were officially over. He’d find out if he’d studied hard enough in a few days.

 

As he stretched, rubbing at the small of his back with a wince, he saw Katie bent low over her paper still, Terry folding a spare piece of parchment into an origami shape and both Millicent and Romilda still scribbling frantically. Like his classmates from his Hogwarts days, he would see them on occasional nights at the Leaky, he supposed but after today they would no longer see each other on a daily basis. He would miss it and Hogwarts too.

 

When McGonagall finally called time up and they filtered outside, Harry found himself with the rest of his friends out on the lawn, spread out next to the lake where the rest of the students soon surrounded them at lunch. It was a warm, bright day and despite the bitter-sweet occasion, everything was calm. Harry glanced over to see Katie swinging her arm back, launching a pebble across the water much further than Terry’s had gone a moment before. She beamed triumphantly.

 

“Who needs boys,” she beamed, flopping down between Harry and Millicent with a broad smile. “It feels so good to know it’s done.” She glanced at each of them. “I will miss you though.”

 

Harry shifted where he sat. The baby was a bit squished in his cross-legged position and he or she was shoving a little at his kidney to make him aware of this. With a wince, he leant back slightly on his hands and met Katie’s gaze. “Yeah. We’ll have to make sure we keep in touch,” he said genuinely. “Hermione, Ron, Neville and Luna and I all have a sort of bimonthly get together at the Three Broomsticks. We should combine it all maybe.”

 

“I hope I’ve got enough to get into the Healer Programme,” Romilda said with a grimace. “Those last few questions were really hard…”

 

Terry glanced to Harry. “Do you have any idea what you want to do with all your NEWTs yet?”

With a smile and a small laugh, Harry shook his head. “Nope. I think I’ll enjoy the freedom of just being ‘Dad’ for a while before I decide. If I get the results I want hopefully the world will be my oyster.”

 

Millicent lay back on the dry grass, staring up at the sky. “But you’ll have to pick something that suits your lifestyle, am I right? Something you can have flexible hours….”

 

Harry groaned. “You sound like Hermione. I sort of can’t think that far ahead, not until I see what my options are anyway, grade-wise.” When they said nothing more and just watched him, he added, hesitantly, “I was thinking something to do with wandlore maybe. I found it really interesting, you know?” He hadn’t mentioned that to Fenrir, of course, to anyone actually and now he found himself a little insecure as he waited for his friends’ response.

 

“That’s amazing Harry,” Romilda said brightly.

 

“Not just anyone can get into wandlore, you know. You have to have quite the passion. And connections to get in,” Millicent mused. Her eyes sparkled. “Bet you won’t have a problem there though.” She didn’t mean it in an offensive way and so Harry just rolled his eyes instead of protesting that he wouldn’t accept an apprenticeship or job from someone who he thought would base it on his name. He just shook his head in fond amusement and enjoyed their company until the afternoon began to move on.

 

As he bid them goodbye for now, instead of walking up to the castle to use McGonagall’s floo to head home, he found himself walking the grounds, losing himself in the trees and the grass, the stone circle, the wooden bridge. He was surprised to find himself on the edge of the forest in the end, staring into the trees and just…thinking. He’d had so many bad memories here, but such good ones too. It had been his first home. It had been the making of him, one way or another.

 

He fancied he could still see Buckbeak tethered near Hagrid’s hut, or even see Dumbledore waiting on the doorstep there with his eyes twinkling. He let his hand find his stomach in search of comfort and wondered why he felt as if he were saying goodbye to a part of himself.

 

“Alrigh’ ‘Arry?” came a welcome voice from off to the side and Harry glanced up to see Hagrid coming to stand beside him. The giant put a hand on his shoulder. “You look a bi’ torn up.”

 

Harry smiled. “I blame the hormones,” he said.

 

“Ah yeh, good idea that,” Hagrid agreed. “Yeh ready for the little ‘un?”

 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Harry replied fondly. He watched as a tawny owl swooped over the trees and their heads, heading for the owlery. “It feels weird. Like I’m leaving home for the first time, even though I’m not, even though I’ll be back to see Snape and you and…” He hesitated. “I feel a bit emotional I suppose. I definitely blame the hormones.”

 

Hagrid chuckled. “I know this was yer firs’ ‘ome and all tha’ but yer forgettin, you’ve got a home now.”

 

Harry was forced to remember that it was about this time with Kirian that he’d been torn from that home, that it was only then that he’d realised how much he loved it. It was the first home that was truly his, that no one could take him away from. Hogwarts would always be here for him to come back to, in many ways, but it wasn’t home any longer. He smiled. Bittersweet.

 

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah I do.”

 

Hagrid thumped his shoulder affectionately and Harry had to steady himself on a nearby tree to stay upright but he appreciated the gesture all the same. Hagrid had been his first friend after all. That, and the fluffy, warm fabric of Hagrid’s large coat felt soft to the touch. Incredibly soft and it smelt of the trees and grass and the summer air. He felt a dazed sort of awe at the sensation of it brushing his skin and found himself patting Hagrid’s arm a bit longer than was necessary, only to receive a knowing, bright-eyed look in response.

 

“Fancy a cuppa before ye go?” Hagrid offered brightly, looking far too much as he’d done when he’d looked at Norbert or Buckbeak for Harry’s liking.

 

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Harry steadied himself on his feet and nodded. “Yeah, go for it.”

 

*                       *                       *

 

Harry stepped through the floo with Kirian in his arms and set the boy down, stretching his back. He was surprised as both of them walked into the main area of the den to find Fenrir sitting by the fire with Ghost’s head on his knee. Those piercing blue eyes found him and a smile touched the corners of that mouth.

 

“Long day?” Fenrir mused.

 

Harry smirked. “Yeah but it’s done. Nothing to do but wait now. It feels good…freeing. No more stress.”

 

“Not about exams anyway,” Fenrir said, “You always find something to stress about.” When Harry’s lips opened to reply, however, Fenrir rose to his feet. “Anyway I’m taking Kirian to Larentia, be ready to leave in five.”

 

Harry frowned, watching as Kirian bounced toward the door, Ghost hot on his heels. “What?” Harry asked. “I just got in.”

 

“And now we’re going back out,” Fenrir said.

 

“We?” Harry repeated, annoyed. “I’m exhausted, Fenrir, I don’t want to-” But before he could finish, Fenrir had already headed out the door with Kirian and Ghost in tow, leaving Harry alone and fuming. He scowled at the fire. He’d been looking forward to getting home and just relaxing. Just…being with Fenrir and Kirian, being at home without worrying about anything for the first time in months. He wasn’t in the mood for whatever Fenrir had up his sleeves.

 

When Fenrir returned alone, however and tugged him toward the floo network, when they stepped out of Eithne’s fire and Fenrir grabbed a fistful of powder once more, Harry’s frown intensified. “What’s going-?” But he never got to finish his sentence. He was pulled in tight with Fenrir and his eyes squeezed shut as the flames furled around them.

 

“The Burrow!” Fenrir growled and before Harry could even register his surprise, they were tumbling out of the Burrow fireplace. Fenrir steadied his shoulder but in doing so, nearly lost balance himself and smashed a few photo frames that had been on the mantel as he’d grabbed it to hold himself upright. He cursed and Harry watched with confusion as he stared down at the shards.

 

“I reckon the sound of destruction means they’re here,” came a voice and Harry looked up to see Mrs Weasley stepping into the kitchen. She beamed at him. “Harry, dear, you look wonderful.” She gripped both his arms and looked him up and down, before pulling him into a tight hug.

 

“I doubt it; I look like I’ve eaten a bludger.” Harry grumbled, still a little irritated and confused. “Not that I’m not happy to see you but why are we here on a Thursday night?” he asked. When Molly released him, she stroked his face before turning round to look at the mess by the fireplace. There was a moment where Fenrir stared at her, as if trying to gauge her reaction, if he should prepare to be defensive or brash or…

 

Molly Weasley just smiled and cheerfully flicked her wand, skilfully sending the frames and the glass fronts back into place, before sitting the frames on the mantelpiece once more. She looked so small and vulnerable next to Fenrir, so ordinary that Harry was a little astounded for a moment. They hadn’t ever stood this close to each other. The pack and the Weasleys mingled on events such as Harry’s birthday or Kirian’s but Fenrir never got this close and it looked very peculiar.

 

“You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve had to fix our little heirlooms with seven children in the house,” she chuckled good-heartedly. There was the briefest hesitation and then Fenrir’s lips quirked up in one corner.

 

“I can, actually,” he said in his usual tone.

 

Molly nodded, turning back to Harry again. “Well, when you’re ready. We’re all in the garden at the moment, more room. Hermione and Fleur helped me to set it all up.”

 

“Set what up?” Harry asked, but she was already stepping out through the two-section stable door and into the dusky evening. Harry turned to look at Fenrir, who looked oddly thoughtful and more at ease after whatever had happened just then.

 

"Don't scowl at me like that," Fenrir mused, stepping forward to place his hand over Harry's stomach. As he did so, Harry tilted his head back to look at him more closely, relishing in the heat on his skin even through his shirt. "You're a right grumpy arse when you're pregnant and out of control of something," Fenrir said. Before Harry could retort, he cupped the side of Harry’s throat the way he always did and moved passed him to follow Molly out the door. Harry hesitated only a moment before following after him. When he reached the doorstep, however, he stopped.

 

The soft, growing darkness of the Weasley’s garden was broken by dozens, perhaps a hundred lanterns that hung on every tree and bush and floated above them like the candles in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. There was a small fire in the centre and gathered round it on a circle of benches, were all of the Weasleys (minus the children), Terry, Katie, Millicent, Romilda, Luna, Neville, Draco, Echo, Marrok, Amoux and Accalia. They all beamed at him as they saw him and Harry saw Mrs Weasley handing out plates of finger food and drinks.

 

Stunned at the intimate beauty of the moment, Harry stared at each of them in turn before letting his eyes come to rest on Fenrir. He stood just the side of the step, watching him apprehensively. Harry swallowed around the thick lump forming in his throat. "What...what's all this for?" he asked, embarrassed by the raspiness of his voice.

 

"For you," Fenrir said huskily, almost inaudible among the sound of laughter and warmth from the group around the fire. "And the cub, of course."

 

Harry understood then what this was. One of those moments where Fenrir managed to surprise him, even after five years together. A moment that Fenrir had set aside his own fears and experiences with wizards to ensure he didn't feel like he was missing out on the parts of that world that everyone else had. A little overwhelmed at the gesture, Harry nodded with understanding and together they joined the circle of friends.

 

The food was mouth-watering of course and to the delight of Mrs Weasley (and Fenrir), Harry had seconds. There were butterbeers and mead being passed round and Harry found the atmosphere surprisingly warm and easy despite the eclectic mix of people gathered round the fire. The lanterns glistened above as darkness fell completely, Celestina Warbeck warbling pleasantly about cauldrons full of love.

 

Fenrir was sprawled next to him, leaning slightly back on one arm with a flagon of mead in his other hand, talking with Bill Weasley as if he _hadn’t_ been the one to tear up his face. It was so surreal, watching Bill’s scarred face twist into a smirk at Fenrir’s gauche humour. It wasn’t as if the past had never happened, but somehow in the last few years, they had all overcome it. It’d just been so subtle that it seemed to have happened when he wasn’t looking. It was a testament to how much Fenrir and the Weasleys loved him, he supposed.

 

As if sensing his thoughts, Bill caught his eye and smiled. “Alright there, Harry?” he asked, clearly amused.

 

Harry nodded, not knowing what to say to express his gratitude for his family for accepting him, Fenrir and Kirian. He sipped his butterbeer. “Smashing,” Harry shot back, surprised when Hermione, who had been sitting to his left, took the butterbeer from him and set it down out of the way. With a furrowed brow, Harry’s lips parted in question but Draco cut him off by getting to his feet, shoving an elegantly wrapped parcel into Harry’s hands. When Harry stared at him in confusion, Draco smirked.

 

“This is a tradition surely even you know, Potter?” he asked, taking his seat again and regarding him with that affectionate frustrated disbelief that had grown so familiar over the last few years. “Open it then or we shall be at this all evening.”

 

Feeling emotional and exposed, Harry dropped his eyes to the shiny paper and pulled at one corner, tearing it away as everyone watched. A soft toy rabbit dropped into his lap, cappuccino coloured and soft. Harry ran his fingers over the fur and glanced up at Draco, who’s cheeks were slightly ruddy with awkwardness.

 

“A bunny for a werewolf cub, Malfoy?” Ron asked.

 

“It’s perfect,” Harry said to Draco before he could reply defensively. As further testament of this, he kept it in what remained of his lap as Hermione handed him her gift. Not a book, oddly enough, but a set of oils in ornate vials, some for him and for baby, apparently, according to the elegant note attached. He smiled. This was how it was supposed to be, this was what he’d missed before, he realised, glancing up at Fenrir as he started to unwrap Fleur’s and Bill’s present to him. He’d missed being surrounded by his family, celebrating this miracle he’d been gifted with.

 

Fenrir’s hand settled at the small of his back and he smiled, quiet but content, Harry could feel it. It was so good it made him feel a little giddy as he thanked Fleur and Bill for their gift and opened a miniature Molly Weasley jumper next.

 

“The stitch work is charmed, the initial will appear when you give him or her a name,” Molly said brightly. The soft wool was a tasteful muted yellow. Kirian had a navy blue one already. Harry stared at the fabric for a long time, running his fingers over the tiny garment. It took him so long to say anything that Fenrir did so for him.

 

“Thank you. It’s…perfect.” The smoothness to his voice was so warm that Harry glanced between him and Molly for a moment. Fenrir’s eyes locked with his, the hand behind him brushing against his back subtly. He was torn from the intimate moment by the next present landing in his lap and Fred and George beginning a tipsy verse of _‘Beat Back Those Bludgers, Boys, and Chuck That Quaffle Here’._

 

The evening was one of the best Harry had ever experienced in his entire life. By the time Luna started to fall asleep in her butterbeer, signalling the end of the night, Harry was exhausted but smiling still, filled to bursting with affection from the people around him. Fenrir took the generous pile of presents through the floo first, leaving Harry to say his goodbyes. As he moved to follow Fenrir through the floo, Hermione set her hand on his shoulder.

 

“I’ve never seen you look so happy, you know?” she said, eyes shining, only slightly inebriated. “Your two families mixing together as if there were no reason they shouldn’t. As if the war never happened…it is pretty special, I think.”

 

Harry nodded, throat tight. He wasn’t sure how to put what he felt for each of them into words. Ron was watching from the doorway, silently agreeing with his wife, supporting him without words that they both found too hard to decipher. In the end, Harry covered Hermione’s hand with his. “It is special,” he agreed. “I don’t think I ever dared to hope for even half this much when I was a kid.”

 

Hermione, apparently overcome by the occasion and the booze, welled up. “Everyone loves you so much, Harry. And Fenrir, he adores you and Kirian and…oh, Harry I’m just so proud of you, so happy.” She threw her arms round his neck and squeezed him. When she eventually pulled back, Ron was beside them and squeezing Harry’s shoulder.

 

“See you soon, mate,” he said and Harry gave him a nod and a tired smile, stepping into the fire.

 

He’d barely dusted himself off before he found himself wrapped in strong arms that practically lifted him up into a desperate kiss. It wasn’t sexual in his ferocity, but hungry, needy. He felt thick fingers card through his hair and hummed softly, gripping Fenrir’s shoulders as he drew back to consider his face. Staring into ferocious blue eyes, Harry let his fingers brush his mate’s stubbly chin thoughtfully.

 

There was so much he felt, so much he wanted this man to know, to thank him for, but as always, the both of them found words difficult and awkward at best. In the end, he smiled softly. His face was starting to hurt from all the smiling.

 

“Five years and you’re still surprising me,” he said. With tonight, with the kiss, with caring for him in spite of everything. It was still startling sometimes to see such love and devotion in the face of such a powerful man. He wondered if Fenrir felt that same way about him. “Draco once asked if there was anything you wouldn’t do for me,” he said lightly.

 

Fenrir smirked. “We’ve got a long time to find out.”

 

 

_To Be Continued…_


	7. Grey Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter my dears :( One more after this. But I have decided I will be writing a nice long one-shot for Echo and Draco next so it's not quite the end.

Grey Wolf

Chapter Seven

Draco rolled his head on his neck and leant back so his head rested on the edge of the bed. He sat on the floor beside it, surrounded by a sea of scrunched up, rejected versions of the letter he’d spent the last hour trying to draft. He scowled furiously, scribbling out his most recent sentence and starting again. “Bloody, sodding...” he began to grumble, before a warm voice sliced through his muttering.

 

“You’ve been busy,” Echo mused, shutting the door to the den behind him and coming toward him. He stepped carefully in the gaps of floor showing through the litter and crouched down in front of Draco, who continued to write. “Mmm,” Echo murmured softly, snatching the quill out of Draco’s hand. Draco’s head shot up, his glare murderous, mouth open ready to spill bile. Those warm eyes stopped him, however and he swallowed. Silent. This man had that power over him, could sweep aside his anxiety or anger, all of it with a flutter of his eyes.

 

“When you scowl,” Echo began, smiling fondly, “You get a little crease here.” He brushed the feather of the refined quill between Draco’s brows illustratively and then trailed it down, caressing his cheekbone, sharp jaw, lips. “You smell upset.”

 

Draco snorted, closing his eyes and letting his head tip back fully onto the edge of the bed once more. “Not upset,” he protested with a little sigh, “just…frustrated. I need to reply to the Ministry with an outline for my proposal. But I need to word it so that they cannot find fault in it or else they’ll continue the same argument we’ve been having for months – finding fault in everything I–” His words cut short as he opened his eyes, finding Echo on the bed, face hovering over his upside down. That smile was breath-taking.

 

Warm lips slid over his, fingers brushing his jaw, teasing at his throat and his hairline, his cheeks. Draco breathed roughly into that mouth, dropping the parchment in his hand and reaching up to hold Echo to him, groaning into him. A soft growl sounded against his lips in answer, roughened by the moon coming in the next few days. Draco huffed back and kissed harder, turning on his knees so he could press his tongue into that mouth at the correct angle. He climbed onto the bed without breaking the connection of their lips.

 

“Missed you,” Echo whispered, gripping his hair tight and rolling him onto his back. Draco bit at his jaw, pushing back. Echo laughed breathlessly, the sound torn between amusement and approving arousal. “My Draco who wants the earth and won’t stop until he gets it.”

 

“You make me sound like a brat,” Draco murmured, trailing lips down as he tugged open Echo’s shirt, brushing his chest with biting kisses. Echo’s fingers knotted in his hair and tugged back so Draco’s face was visible, throat a tight, stunning line of alabaster skin.

 

“I’ve always known who you are, Draco Malfoy,” Echo said, voice greedy and husky, eyes tinted with gold. “You’re ambitious and hungry. You know what you want and I don’t ever want you to be any different. No matter how big our family gets or how old you grow.”

 

Draco’s silver eyes flashed and he slid up, until he was straddling Echo’s hips, fingertips dragging over Echo’s shoulders. He cocked his head to regard him, hair tousled from Echo’s grip. “Do you know what I want right now?” he demanded roughly. No sooner than Echo’s lips opened to reply, however, than a soft cry came from the other room. They both froze, then Draco slumped, rolling off of Echo and flinging an arm over his eyes.

 

“I’ll get her,” Echo said, laughing huskily in Draco’s ear and kissing it before slipping off the bed. As he vanished into the other room, there was a knock on the den door.

 

“Come in, come in,” Draco called out impatiently without moving an inch. The door pushed open.

 

“Errr, am I interrupting?” Harry asked from the doorway.

 

“No, my daughter is, with impeccable timing as always,” Draco sighed, pulling himself into an upright position to regard Harry. “Can I help you?”

 

Harry seemed thoughtful for a moment. Echo stepped back into the room with a grizzly Astrid on his hip, who he passed to Draco. She quietened as she nuzzled her face into his neck. Both of them seemed to relax and Harry smiled as he considered them. “Maybe I can help you?” he suggested with that ludicrous grin on his face that made Draco despair at times. “I was going to ask if you wanted to go to Shae with me but…maybe I could take Astrid for a few hours? Maybe give you two a break?”

 

Draco stiffened. Harry didn’t have to ask to know what he was feeling. It’d be the first time Draco passed Astrid over to someone else for more than half hour. He smiled knowingly and stepped forward when Astrid glanced up at him with big blue eyes. “Hey, princess,” he said, holding Draco’s gaze briefly as he pulled the little girl into his arms. She beamed, wrapping her arm round his neck, her little legs resting on his swollen stomach. She rubbed one foot against it and a soft thump from within answered her.

 

“Baby,” he said instructively. She smiled, stunning as always and bounced eagerly in his arms.

 

“Abah!” she squeaked.

 

Draco smirked up at them uncertainly. “She’s mine, Potter,” he said lightly, “You have to wait another two weeks or so for your next one.” He brushed his fingers over Astrid’s toes distractedly but there was no bite to his tone.

 

“Oh, I know who she belongs to alright, why do you think I call her princess?” Harry laughed softly, offering Draco a lingering requesting look before heading to the door. “I won’t be too long. You two just…” he didn’t need to finish his sentence. He shut the door behind him.

Draco felt Echo sit down behind him and leant back into his heat. Both of his mate’s arms wrapped around him and he closed his eyes, willing the low throb of panic to silence inside him. He wasn’t a neurotic father; he could let her go for a few hours. Potter, well, he trusted him with his life…

 

“What do you want to do?” Echo asked, his voice warm and husky against Draco’s ear. Draco tilted his head into it and sighed.

 

“Keep myself busy and not let the instincts control me while she’s away – if Potter can do it I can. I’m still a wizard as well as a werewolf, am I not?” he replied, turning his head to catch Echo’s subtle smile out of the corner of his eye. “Perhaps we could…enjoy each other as we haven’t in a while?”

 

Echo chuckled. “Appealing as that sounds I didn’t mean immediately, I meant…in general.” He gestured to the mess of discarded parchment all around them. “Beyond me and Astrid. You’re not just a pretty face.”

 

Draco snorted, sprawling out on the bed and staring up at the ceiling, until Echo leant over him, staring at him indulgently. “I’ve been thinking for some time that it’d be a shame to let my inheritance go to waste, squandered on one of the ‘beneficial’ causes my father wants me to back to gain status, as he’s done all his life. He’s always fancied himself a gentleman of leisure, you know.” He’d long ago abandoned any longing to be like his father. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the schooling the children get here in the Valley.”

 

Echo hummed softly, signalling that he was listening. He smoothed his hand across Draco’s collarbone and shoulder, thumb brushing lightly against the mark he’d given him there at the place where collarbone met shoulder. Draco stretched and smiled indulgently.

 

“You’ve been getting more and more involved with Accalia and his lessons,” Echo said thoughtfully.

 

“I want to set up a primary school – one for purebloods, half-bloods, werewolves, muggleborns - any children showing signs of magi. A place where they can learn about each other before they go to Hogwarts or Beauxbatons or wherever else.”

 

Echo’s eyes fluttered with brief surprise. He leant on his elbow at Draco’s side now, seeming momentarily lost for words. “That’s very…worldly of you. Impartial,” he said gently.

 

Draco scowled. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

 

With a small laugh, Echo brushed his thumb against the frown line between Draco’s brows, allowing his hand to cup his fair cheek. “I’m not surprised that you’re not a prejudiced little pureblood, but being unprejudiced is not the same as wanting to unite everyone far earlier than eleven years of age. You’ve never expressed a desire to bring peace and prosperity.”

 

“I don’t believe that’s something one man can achieve,” Draco said haughtily, “but perhaps if children grow up together and learn more about each other it is possible for the future. I cringe to think of the ignorant brat I was raised to be. I’d like to spare my daughter and others that upbringing.”

 

Echo’s mouth twitched. “As long as I don’t lose my little braggart who holds my most base instincts in high disdain,” he said fondly.

 

Draco tried not to betray his smirk. “Braggart? Indeed. Nothing so gauche.”

 

Echo laughed, cupping the back of his neck and pulling him up so Draco sat astride him again, his hair a tousled blond halo above him. Echo’s hands slid over his trouser-clad thighs as he said, “I know that you enjoy helping Accalia, but you’ve never seemed to express a desire to be a formal teacher either.”

 

Draco did smirk then, resting his hands on Echo’s bare chest. “I don’t think I could handle being a teacher as such. But I’ve always fancied myself as a senile old headmaster. I think I would do old and worldly quite well. Even if it will take many years for the werewolf in me to allow me to grow old.”

 

Kissing him soundly, Echo massaged their lips together, threading the fingers of one hand through Draco’s hair and tugging open his shirt with the other. He tasted Draco’s breathless gasp and kept kissing, tongue flicking out to meet his and bringing hot, fluid pleasure. He arched up a little to meet Draco’s body as Draco leant down to meet his. As perfect as it had been the first time and every time after that.

 

When at last they broke apart, Draco looked glorious above him, the same as he’d been that first time they’d laid eyes on each other but also so different. “I can’t wait to see you grow grey and senile,” Echo said mischievously.

 

“You first, old man,” Draco countered aloofly, thumbs ghosting over his lover’s hard stomach. “You mentioned something earlier about finishing what we started?” He let his thumb catch on the waistband of Echo’s trousers, perfectly manicured nail teasing lightly at the flesh below, before he tugged it down. “I do love you, you know?” he said almost absently.

 

Echo surged upward as violently as if he’d been prodded with an electric current. He caught Draco’s face and bore him back into the bed, biting firm and wetly at his marked throat, shoving Draco’s trousers down to his thighs. Draco groaned hotly, fingers grazing Echo’s lightly muscled back as coarse fingers grasped his bollocks and cock. “Fuck,” he panted, rolling hips up to press into the firm strokes.

 

“I bloody love it when you swear with that accent,” Echo growls, a little of the wolf rising to the surface with the moon so close. He let his lips and teeth graze down Draco’s shoulder, right to the place where the iridescent scar lingered. He flicked his tongue against it and felt Draco’s fingers dig into him.

“Bloody love you this close to the moon,” Draco hissed, jerking his hips so he was fucking Echo’s hand.

 

“Miss the animal in me?” Echo breathed. “You never had a problem about the full moon mating, did you my little pervert?”

 

Draco flushed, seizing a fistful of Echo’s hair and tugging back in punishment, straining the line of his throat so he could mouth it roughly, his tender skin, his adam’s apple. “Revolting, uncouth mongrel,” Draco teased, voice hoarse as his hips rode the pleasure encircling him, squeezing so right. “Maybe I should have you neutered to curb that attitude of yours?”

 

Echo growled roughly at the drawl and twisted his head out of the grip of those eloquent fingers, biting at their tips gently before scrambling back off the edge of the bed onto his feet. Before Draco could move or even register anything other than the fact that the fist around his prick had vanished, claws dug into his hips. They dragged him across the sheets, pulling him off the bed and flipping him over. One hand kept hold of his hips and the other pushed firmly between his shoulder blades, pinning his upper body to the bed, bending him over it like a low class harlot. It made him squirm and fidget on his toes, pant hard into the sheets. His mate was always one to treasure, fuss and pamper him but at times like this, he wanted rough and unrestrained and beastly. He relished in it.

 

“Maybe I should give you a lesson in manners if you’re forgetting yours,” Echo almost hummed, the hand he’d pressed into Draco’s upper back vanishing. Draco couldn’t see him but he could hear him rummaging for something in the hidden drawer beneath the bed. Just that knowledge made his head swim with lust and he closed his eyes, cock leaking stickily against the sheets. He knew what kinds of things they kept hidden in that drawer, he and Echo had taken great relish in testing everything they’d bought for that drawer in the first few years they’d been together. They hadn’t delved into it since before Astrid though and he dragged his teeth over his lower lip in anticipation, hips shifting.

 

“I can feel you wanting it,” Echo murmured, muscled body leaning tight over Draco’s now so his words brushed against Draco’s ear. “You want something a bit different, don’t you?”

 

Draco turned his head to the side so his growl of eager frustration could be heard clearly in the den. He heard Echo chuckle against his ear before biting gently, something smooth and hard pressing against his entrance. Oh Merlin. Draco bit his lip as the slickened, tapered tip pushed just enough against his tight entrance to let him feel the teasing, glorious stretch. He hissed, gripping the sheets and pushing back, shifting his legs further apart.

 

“So greedy, always, you’re never satisfied,” Echo whispered reverently, leaning back now and gripping Draco’s hip hard as he circled the faux shaft around and around the tender hole that was trying to open to him, draw him in greedily. “My spoiled little prince,” Echo breathed above him. “This is your favourite one, you know, the one that’s wide and black and ridged? The one that curves a little bit, just right…” His voice was so low and sensual that Draco pushed up onto his forearms for extra leverage to rock back impatiently into him, but the grip on his hip did not permit it.

 

“There isn’t much lube on it, do you reckon you can take it?” Echo coaxed, pushing again, this time so that the flared head pressed inside, leaving the widest point right at the ring of flesh, so Echo could watch it twitch and spasm around it.

 

“Yes, for Merlin’s sake yes!” Draco hissed, rutting forward to let the pressure of his body bear it down into the now slick sheets. Above him, Echo made a sound of disapproval and the hand on his hip vanished for a moment, reaching beneath him to pull his cock and balls out so they hung down between his legs, neglected.

 

“I want to see everything,” Echo almost growled and before Draco could protest he pushed the toy in. He watched as pink skin that was just slicked enough swallowed the flared head, struggled to cope around the wide shaft. “Just a bit smaller than me, isn’t it? But you haven’t had me in a while, have you?”

 

Draco’s head hung down, his entire body alight with little pulses of heat that made him groan, overwhelmed into the room, eyes shut. It was almost too much, the sensation after what felt like forever. “Love it when you’re like this,” Draco managed, his skin almost on fire with this man who he’d missed having like this for so long. “More.”

 

Echo was gripping his hip again, twisting the toy and moving it from side to side slightly to let Draco feel the stretch even more, to tease and drag against his prostate as he slid deeper. Breathing hard, Echo watched all of this man as he pushed the toy in to the hilt, watched his cock leak and his hole flutter around the girth. Slowly, he drew the shaft back and saw and felt Draco almost deflate as it was pulled back to the tip, the flared edge a delicious tug against the swollen flesh.

 

“You’re so pink down here, like you’re ready for breeding,” Echo said, the wolf throbbing painfully inside, wanting out, wanting to ravish and fill the body before him on sheer instinct, not caring about anything else.

 

Draco started to move then and Echo let him, his grip loose on him as he watched him rock back and forth on his toes, swallowing the toy up eagerly, genitals swaying beneath him with the movement. He pushed up onto his hands to glance back at Echo over his shoulder as he pushed, completely unashamed and wanton as ever, fucking himself on the toy without reprieve. He was undulating now, rolling his hips to get the pressure he wanted, to make himself look good for his made, to bring them both pleasure. Echo couldn’t help himself, he reached down to milk his mate’s cock of the thick, pearly pre-emission that was oozing from the tip, stroking steadily, licking the fluid from his fingers as he kept a firm grip on the toy for Draco to fuck himself on.

 

“You have no idea what you look like,” Echo breathed, loving the sight of that flushed, confident smile on Draco’s face.

“The pole in your trousers is some clue,” Draco panted, as taunting as ever. “Take them off.”

 

“Demanding little chit,” Echo smirked, pushing the toy deep inside a final time, leaving it there and stepping back, watching Draco clench around it to try and hold onto it. Starting on the ties of his trousers, Echo stepped back further and murmured, “brace yourself against the wall. Keep the toy in – don’t use your hands.” He watched Draco tense, watched him shift his legs, testing the feel of the fullness as he slowly stood upright.

 

There was a glorious tightness to his buttocks as he gripped the toy tight, which bobbed down a fraction, just peaking out beneath. It made Echo tug his trousers open the rest of the way impatiently and kick them down his legs so there were no boundaries between them. Draco braced his hands against the wall and Echo pressed himself along the length of him.

 

He nuzzled against the back of his neck, gripping him there with his teeth, making Draco’s body melt and go limp – almost. Still the toy dropped and Draco made a noise of panicked urgency. When Echo reached down, he felt those muscles gripping the flared tip tightly, frantically and smiled hungrily against the skin, biting more firmly, wanting to try and make Draco lose it.

 

“Hold on to it,” he breathed lightly, “you don’t want to lose, do you?”

 

Draco half-groaned, half-snarled and Echo could feel him trying to fight the instinctive softness that overcame his muscles at the pressure at the back of his neck. The werewolf in him against the greedy, aroused human. Still worrying the nape of his neck, Echo let his hand slide up over taut, sweat-slicked abdominal muscles and grazed them with his nails, up over his nipples and down again, over and over until he heard the low, husky gasps of pleasure that were only just barely audible this close up.

 

“You feel it, don’t you?” Echo murmured, “you’re wound so tight. You’ve missed me.”

 

Draco reached back with one arm, twisting his neck at a difficult angle to drag Echo into a messy kiss. It was all tongue, teeth, spittle and frantic groans. It was an uninhibited agreement to his words and Draco would not release his grip on his hair, evidently wanting to feel his breath against his cheek even when the kiss broke. Permitting him the awkward but delectable angle, Echo dragged his nails down his torso a final time before reaching beneath his genitals to push the toy all the way back up inside. “I promised you ‘different’, didn’t I?” he breathed against his cheek. There was a delay, both of their minds inhibited by lust but then Draco nodded and Echo stepped back enough to search the drawer under the bed for the jar of slick, clear jelly Draco liked best.

 

“Show me,” Echo murmured and Draco seemed confused for a moment, before he shifted his hips back out, showing his full arse and swollen, neglected erection clearly. Presenting. Echo was so hard his lower body hurt with the need to touch himself. Dipping his fingers into the jar, however, he coated them liberally and wiggled them into Draco’s warm, pliant heat around the toy. Draco gasped but didn’t move, welcoming him in deeper until Echo was sliding his fingers one at a time around the shaft, then two at a tip, spreading the jelly, stretching him further.

 

“Hold on to it,” Echo said again in mock chastisement as he let three fingers press in along side the shaft, seeing it slip slightly with the extra lube and stretch. He pushed more slick gel inside and a low, husky growl burned in his throat as he saw some dribble down across full, taut bollocks. “That’s it. So good. You want to be my good little brat don’t you?”

 

“Sod off,” Draco panted but he gripped him greedily, head flying back as Echo pushed the forth digit inside. “Oh, shit!”

 

Echo smirked, withdrawing his fingers and covering his own swollen hardness with the gel as he watched Draco push his arse back higher, trying to grip the toy still. It nearly fell this time, only just stopped by Echo stepping forward and pressing the head of his own cock against Draco’s hole beside it. “So wet and loose, you nearly dropped it, your favourite toy,” Echo whispered, watching Draco twitch around both of them in anticipation. “Bear down into me,” he urged and then he pushed in.

 

It was a tight fit. He could feel the overwhelming tightness, the slickness, the heat so mouth-watering it made him have to grip Draco’s neck again with his teeth to stave off his urgency. This helped. Draco went pliant and soft, bracing himself just barely against the wall as Echo sank into him alongside the shaft already embedded within. Draco’s head tipped back when Echo finally released him, onto Echo’s shoulder, eloquent mouth kiss-bruised and hanging open as he cried out, long and hard with the overwhelming pleasure.

 

“So full,” he panted as he found his words. Echo dragged his nails down his taut stomach and growled appreciatively in response.

 

“Tight,” he managed himself, drawing back experimentally before sinking back in again. “I can feel you twitching. You’re stretched to capacity, aren’t you?”

 

“Fuck me,” Draco whined roughly and Echo let his hand slide down to touch the place where Draco was stretched around two shafts. He tapped the bottom of the wizarding toy and it began to move, sliding in and out of its own volition. Just as Draco’s throat released a strangled sound of surprised pleasure, Echo punched his hips forward, then drew back, cock sliding perfectly along the shaft and Draco and rolling into a rhythm of heat and slick, sticky sounds of debauchery. Draco gripped his hair hard again at that awkward angle and Echo scratched softly at his nipples, loving the feel of tight, taut buds under the pads of his fingers. They were moving together inevitably, messily. Perfectly.

 

“So good,” Draco breathed, clutching Echo’s face to his neck, his back sliding against Echo’s torso, the awkward angle making the two shafts grind exactly right. Echo nipped at the line of his jaw he could reach and let his hand slide down to grasp Draco’s weeping hardness.

 

“Even better?” Echo asked as he stroked him, steady, leisurely pumps of his fist, the pink exposed head sensitive to touch. “That feels much better, doesn’t it?” The only answer he received was an almost animalistic snarl. Draco was grinding back into him hard now, alternatively arching into his cock and fucking his fist with wanton abandon.

 

Draco shifted, finally releasing his hair to brace himself against the wall again, pushing his hips back further to let Echo in deeper. The toy was thrusting frantically now, pounding wetly, harshly alongside Echo and stroking them both toward oblivion. Echo’s hand moved faster over Draco’s cock, urging him on, into an inevitable, unstoppable writhing rhythm that neither of them could stop.

 

Wet, dirty sounds punctuated every move now and Draco was gasping with every breath, but in the end Echo finished first, dragging Draco roughly to bend him over the bed again. He pushed down, pressing him tight to the mattress, unable to stop as he snapped his hips in, spilling himself deep inside the squirming body beneath.

 

Draco groaned, Echo’s hand still moving over his cock, Echo rolling his hips into him slower now but the fake cock pounding away harder and faster than ever. Head spinning, cock still throbbing but spent inside his mate’s slick backside, Echo forced himself back onto the floor on his knees and coaxed Draco over onto his back, dragging him down so his arse was hanging off the edge of the bed. His arse that was leaking obscenely, the toy pounding him noisily, making him arch, needing that final push toward the edge.

 

Draco raised his head, hair tousled as he stared down with shining eyes. Echo beamed lustfully, hand sliding up to caress that sweat-slicked skin as he bent his neck to suck Draco’s needy cock into his mouth. Two hands fisted in his hair and Draco was fucking his throat without care, just wanting, taking. His erection throbbed, spilling a final burst of musky pre-emission that Echo swallowed greedily, dipping his head to suck Draco down to the base, tongue massaging the underside expertly, tracing every vein and inch of smooth skin it could reach.

 

Then Echo grabbed the end of the toy, twisting it so the slightly curved end dragged against Draco’s prostate a final time and that was it. Draco cried out, digging his fingers hard into Echo’s skull as he burst down his throat, body arching in little spasms as his orgasm ripped through him.

 

Echo edged back, wiping his mouth and climbing onto the bed to wrap himself round Draco, pulling the sheet over them even as they both struggled to regain their breath. “You’re still stunning. I think you will be even when you’re a senile old headmaster,” he mused, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent of their unified bodies.

 

“Of course I am,” Draco replied, voice light and airy, as if he were floating on another plain. “You’re quite splendid too – always, even after a child.”

 

Echo laughed. “Isn’t that my line?”

 

Draco scoffed. “I stand by what I say.” He opened his eyes to stare up at the ceiling above. “Perhaps…perhaps Potter could take Astrid now and again, you know, just to ensure we don’t have this sort of build up again.” His tone was a teasing drawl and Echo laughed again, pulling him close so he could rest his nose against Draco’s neck.

 

“Of course, we wouldn’t want that,” he replied. “We’ll have to get a few more things for that drawer.”

 

“Pervert.”

 

*                       *                       *

 

“You didn’t need to make a special trip for this, Harry,” Eithne said as Kirian set the books down on her table for Harry. The old woman stroked Kirian’s hair gratefully before pulling him into her side for a one-armed hug. “You’ll make much more use out of the books than I,” she added.

 

Harry smiled at the warm sight of Kirian and Eithne together, sitting down in one of the armchairs and arranging Astrid so she could sit on his lap without being sat on his stomach. She seemed amazed with the stuffed yellow pigmy puff Kirian had generously shared with her before they’d set off, blissfully content for the moment. “It’s fine, Draco and Snape have made a sort of…enciphered copy. It makes sense of the witch’s little encrypted paper trail; you know for the future.” He watched as Eithne detached herself from Kirian to run her wrinkled fingers over the aged books.

 

“The Village of Shae always worked with the werewolves,” Eithne said as she took the books over to the shelf in the nook beside the chimney breast. “We were part of them in a way. Unlike the rest of the wizarding community we respected and valued them as greatly as our own kind. We taught our children and their children that we were all the same underneath. Understanding them was my life’s passion even before my son was discovered to have the recessive gene.”

Kirian had pulled the little wooden toy train he liked so much out of the cupboard, one of his grandfather’s favourite toys, incidentally, and he was now pulling it along the floor making ‘choo choo’ noises. Astrid kept craning her head to watch him and Harry smirked, setting her down on the carpet and watching her crawl urgently to play with him, eyes and mouth wide with eagerness.

 

As she reached him, Kirian hesitated for a moment. He stared between her and the train. He was a good boy, but still, it must’ve been hard to share. Harry was guilty of not encouraging it an awful lot, plagued by memories of never having his own toys that weren’t broken cast offs of Dudley. He swallowed as he watched Kirian hold the little train for a moment, before sliding it along the ground toward Astrid. She reached for it, hand grabbing quickly.

 

“No,” Kirian said and Harry tensed in his chair, not really knowing what to do. He found he didn’t have to do anything, however, as Kirian laid his hand over Astrid’s and helped her push it along as he’d been doing. It was the simplest yet most beautiful sight. Astrid seemed a little confused but quite happy as long as her hand was on it and Kirian seemed quite content as she made a babbling attempt at the ‘choo choo’ noise he’d been making. Relieved and smiling slightly, Harry looked back to find Eithne sitting in front of him on the other chair, watching him thoughtfully.

 

“Sorry,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s still hard sometimes, sitting back and seeing if you’ve raised them right or if your own…experiences have made you make a pig’s ear out of it.”

 

Eithne chuckled. “I think every parent feels that way, Harry.”

 

Harry’s mouth twisted. “Fenrir never messes up like I do, he always knows what to do with them.”

 

“He was raised with and around children and is as such very well adjusted – in this matter,” Eithne said plainly. “Just as you are better adjusted to other things than he. Isn’t that why you complete each other so perfectly?”

 

Harry glanced to where Astrid had let Kirian have the train back and was now pushing it round her in circles as fast as he could, making frantic train noises. Astrid giggled delightedly. He’d be ok, brother or sister, Harry thought, hand resting on his stomach. There was no Dark Lord or monster or danger to fight. This was just a normal thing to worry about and they’d get through it just fine.

 

“Where did you find the Original Witch’s texts?” Harry asked, rolling the yellow pigmy puff toy over and over in his hands. “Everyone else seemed to think they were lost.”

 

Eithne nodded. “They were. When my son and everyone else were lost, when my only remaining grandchild went in search of revenge, I suppose you might say I searched for them in the hope that I could rebuild the future.” Her lined face crinkled warmly, with just a twist of sadness. “The books were not together, of course. It took me many years to find them. Many dead ends and false trails. I’m not even sure where I started now, after all these years. It was a werewolf legend that the original witch and her mate were buried near the Standing Stones of the Orkney Islands. I started my journey there, found a shrewd clue carved into one of the stones, one that eventually lead me to their true resting place and then it seemed to grow from there until I had all of their works.”

 

Harry nodded, he thought he could understand. “But you didn’t know what the spells and poems and _lyrics_ meant?” That he found hard to comprehend; Eithne he’d always felt was as wise as Dumbledore or old McGonagall.

 

“They were not meant for my eyes. Only for yours. The rest of us, myself, Draco, your Professor Snape, we could have all gotten the clues but only one who carried her blood could be the one to pull them all together and make sense of them. Such is her magic, made so no one could use it or have chance to abuse it but the one that carried her gift.”

 

“So you had to wait for me, or someone like me,” Harry said.

 

Eithne beamed. “Yes. I had hoped you would come in my lifetime. It was an extra blessing that you would rescue Fenrir from himself so that he could be a part of this.” She glanced at Kirian and then looked to Harry’s stomach. “Rebuild our family as well as the future.”

 

If called on it later, he would blame the moon, perhaps the hormones, but he felt emotion well up in him a little as he gave a small nod and smile. “Happy to be part of it,” he said, just as Kirian bounced over to Eithne and scrambled into her lap. “Tell me about how you found the books?” he asked eagerly.

 

With that, Harry pushed to his feet and scooped up Astrid just as she began to crawl toward the fire. “I’ll be back in a minute. Just want to get some more Calendula Oil from the shop.” He hadn’t even gotten to the end of Eithne’s little front garden before he bumped, literally into Remus and Teddy.

 

“Harry,” Remus said lightly, squeezing Teddy’s hand. He looked concerned, his face lined with apprehension, while Teddy was smiling happily. “I… That is, I smelt you. I wanted to speak with you about bringing Teddy to tomorrow’s moon.”

 

Harry blinked, glancing from Teddy to Remus. The former looked bouncing with excitement while Remus, he looked worried. Harry supposed he could understand that – especially with how neurotic _he_ was when it came to Kirian’s safety at times. He smiled tightly, smoothing fingers through Teddy’s hair before meeting Remus’ gaze again. Astrid babbled on his hip, effectively breaking the tension and Harry laughed. “He’ll be great, Remus. I know you’re worried, I get it but you’ve been a part of it for years, you know there’s no place safer for him.”

 

Remus nodded, looking wistful now. “I suppose a part of me will always have expectations of my son’s life based on my own childhood,” he looked down at Teddy, “but he is part of the pack too. He has been for some time. It was foolish of me to try and hide him from what he is. If you’d had more time to come to terms with what you were it would’ve made things a lot simpler.”

 

Regarding the closest thing to his father that he had left, Harry nodded. “And Tonks, she’s…?”

 

“It was a shock but she is happy with our life, with the pack with…everything. She is looking forward to tomorrow, I am ashamed to say the reticence is purely with me.”

 

“Well, after tomorrow, you’ll know there’s nothing to worry about,” Harry assured him.

 

*                       *                       *

 

There was a low hum of anticipation he same as there was every moon as the moon approached the horizon from beneath. As dusk approached, Harry unbuttoned Kirian’s shirt and set it on the side, letting the boy practically leap out of his own trousers. Even now there was a prickle of oddness but he knew that that lay with him alone and he pulled off his own trousers but elected to keep the overlong tunic shirt on. He felt Fenrir’s heat long before those hands slid around him to ruck up his shirt and touch his swollen stomach, the kiss on his neck. He turned into it, just breathing for a moment.

 

“You know the wolf likes to see and feel your skin,” Fenrir grumbled, mouthing his neck gently.

 

“Yucky,” Kirian grimaced, hurriedly glancing away from them.

 

Harry smirked and turned to face Fenrir, effectively ending their spooning. “Don’t start,” he said to Fenrir without any bite to his voice. “You know how I feel about it when I’m like this.” He punctuated his words by gesturing to his midriff and Fenrir scowled for a moment.

 

“Isn’t this time around meant to be about…accepting yourself? Doing things you should’ve done the first time?” he hedged.

 

Harry hesitated. Compromise, he told himself and headed toward the bed. He shrugged off his shirt and pulled Fenrir’s fur cloak round his shoulders. It was a bit warm to wear it, especially with the heat of the moon burning through his veins but once he was out in the cool night air he’d be able to bear it. He met Fenrir’s eyes and knew he understood. He’d wear this until the moon took over and he wasn’t so worried about awkwardness any longer. He loved the way that mouth twisted into his favourite smile.

 

“Let’s go find Remus, I know he’ll be panicking,” Harry said, grasping Kirian’s hand and heading out into the Valley, Ghost at Kirian’s side and whirling and bounding excitedly until Kirian tore away from Harry and ran ahead to chase after him. Harry smirked as he watched them, like two wolf cubs bounding in the dirt. They moved through the pack to find Remus, Tonks and Teddy at the far side and to his utter surprise, as Kirian and Ghost, breathless and giddy came to Harry’s side, Fenrir stepped forward and grasped Remus’ shoulder firmly.

 

There was a long pause and Fenrir gave a small grunt. “Don’t be afraid,” he said gruffly, almost sharply but Harry understood the concern there and watched as Tonks began pulling an excited looking Teddy ‘s shirt off. The children carrying the recessive gene and those that were born werewolves did not transform, but felt the pull of instincts just as Harry did. They too would lose themselves to the freedom the moon brought. He’d thought Teddy would be afraid, or at least uncertain but it was clearer now than ever that all this time, he’d felt left out of this important ritual their odd family shared. As far as he was concerned, tonight he would be crossing that final boundary. Things had a way of working out in the end, he realised and stroked Kirian’s hair gently.

 

“Dad, I don’t feel good,” Kirian complained softly, his voice almost an animalistic whine. Harry tensed. Both he and Kirian were used to him feeling a little emotional and unsteady as the moon approached but he’d never complained like this, with that odd tone to his voice. He frowned, kneeling in front of Kirian and instinctively brushing his hand over his forehead under his messy fringe. Burning hot, but then, he always was before the moon rose.

 

“Like how?” he asked, “Did you eat too much?” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Fenrir was distracted talking in a low voice to Remus, but Tonks was glancing at him worriedly.

 

“My skin itches and my…my teeth hurt and my bones hurt,” Kirian whimpered, gripping Ghost’s fur. He clenched his eyes shut for a moment but when he opened them again, Harry felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. The usually vivid emerald eyes staring back at him were brightest amber. In that instant, Fenrir was kneeling at Kirian’s side, gripping his neck gently and tilting his head to the side, leaning in to sniff. When he drew back he did not look at Harry.

 

“You’re alright,” Fenrir said, voice hoarse, “More than alright. It’s nothing bad, son.”

 

Kirian blinked owlishly and Harry swallowed. “What do you mean?” Harry breathed.

 

“There hasn’t been a born wolf that changed this young since–”

 

“What do you mean, _change_?” Harry whispered, voice barely audible. “I thought when he was twelve or–”

 

“Sometimes it happens before,” Fenrir said in a soothing, soft grumble, the one that reached through Harry’s senses and made him feel light-headed. “You heard the other pack mention it, didn’t you? When my alpha was alive it was said that it meant great strength.”

 

Kirian looked anxiously between the two of them. “I don’t want to change,” he sobbed, releasing Ghost’s fur and stepping forward into Harry’s arms, wrapping his arms round Harry’s neck. “Don’t want to hurt.”

 

“C’mere,” Fenrir said, pulling the boy to stand in front of him, gripping his wrists in large hands. A prickle ran up Harry’s spine and he new the moon was imminent. He swallowed, panic thick in his throat as he watched the most important people in his world stare into each other’s eyes. He saw Fenrir’s jaw tense and knew he was fighting his own change.

 

“Look at me,” Fenrir said firmly, huskily to his son and Kirian sniffled but obeyed. “It’s going to twinge for a moment then it’ll be fine. You see me do it every month. Don’t look away from me.” At that moment, a tremor ran through the pack and Harry saw each of them drop, their bodies morphing under the will of the moonlight spreading across the grass. Remus too, folded in on himself, a few feet away from Teddy and Tonks now but Harry was frozen to the spot.

 

It was all happening too quickly, Kirian was shaking as he stared into Fenrir’s eyes, as Fenrir struggled to stave off his own transformation and then suddenly Kirian crumpled. A low whine ripped out of his throat that was pure wolf before hair and bone and shape changed. A yelp sounded and Harry felt bile rising in his throat as the bones snapped back into shape until a dusty grey, almost white wolf tumbled to the ground.

 

Harry scooped him up, cradling the little cub easily in one arm. He locked eyes with Fenrir, saw the moment his control snapped like a stretch of elastic. Fenrir stepped back out of reach and the change ripped through him, more violent than Harry had ever seen it. He cried out with a snarl of pain and his body arched with a jolt as if struck by lightning. It sent him sprawling to the dirt and everything in the clearing went still. On the ground, the disorientated silver wolf shuddered and staggered to his feet, all eyes on him. Harry, overcome with the moon himself now, swallowed, a rush of foreboding in his throat.

 

His mate looked bewildered, pained, weak and all the more volatile for that weakness. Like a defensive teenager ready to lash out. Harry, still kneeling on the ground, watched as the silver wolf took in his surroundings, the throbbing pain still evident through their connection. Gold eyes fixed on the little boy nearby, Teddy blinked, rooted to the spot where he stood in front of Tonks, naked as the day he was born and blinking big eyes up at the alpha as he approached. There was a brief moment, a flash of uncertainty and Remus shifted on his paws, grumbling cautiously.

 

Fenrir’s head snapped up, giving a bark of warning. But instead of lashing out, Fenrir’s large paw came up, planting in the small of Teddy’s bare, delicate back and pulling him in, almost protectively. Brilliant gold eyes gave a look to Remus and Tonks, before that great muzzle dipped to sniff and brush against the head of shocking silver hair. Teddy fidgeted, unafraid but clearly eager for freedom. The side of that muzzle grazed his cheek, accepting him and then Teddy was allowed to stagger backward toward his parents. This seemed to be the moment that broke the tension. The pack began to move again, like musical statues set free and all the life and warmth of the moon was breathed back into the clearing.

 

The Alpha turned toward Harry and Kirian, tail swaying from side to side. The little cub looked up from his cradled position in Harry’s arms, vivid green eyes ringed with an amber glow. When Fenrir came to stand over them both, Kirian wriggled, little fluffy white tail wagging. Harry heard a soft, subtle whine from the powerful beast standing over them. His body melted as he nuzzled into him, mussing his hair with a snuffling nose before leaning down to do the same to Kirian.

 

When Kirian struggled again, yipping excitedly this time, Harry clung to him a moment longer, heart tight before he was met with bright gold-green eyes and a feeling lapping at his and his mate’s connection that told him he knew what to do. He half-heartedly released the bundle of fur and watched Kirian skitter across the grass, like a baby horse unused to his legs. He stumbled, bounded, rolled between Fenrir’s legs, tongue lolling and tail flailing furiously.

 

Fenrir lowered his head, letting Kirian paw and lick excitedly at his face and latch onto his neck with useless little teeth, play biting. A big paw came down to swat him lightly on the side and Kirian rolled over onto his back. The easy comfort, the feeling of family settled around them fully at last as Harry cocked his head, one hand curled over his stomach while Fenrir bathed Kirian’s exposed pink belly – only briefly, before the tiny cub was off again, bounding toward Teddy, whom he practically bowled over in his excitement to greet him.

 

Harry ached but in a glorious way. As the moon had greeted his little cub for the first time he’d been filled with helplessness that he loathed, an inability to help his young through pain. Now he was imbued with the knowledge that just perhaps, that was alright, that this was the way it was meant to be. He couldn’t protect his cubs from everything, he and Fenrir could only prepare them and when the moment came, let them scamper off across the grass to feel the wind through their fur and the exhilaration of life beyond their parents’ shadows.

 

Bittersweet pride filled him and Harry closed his eyes as Fenrir butted his head against his neck, evidently feeling the mood shift. Harry growled softly and let himself lean back against Fenrir’s warm fur as his mate lay down behind him. Kirian and Teddy seemed to be entangled with Vilkas, the two wolf cubs rolling across the dirt and chasing Teddy, who was giving as good as he got despite his lack of fur and paws. Remus was sprawled across the grass with Tonks, seeming calmer, happier than he’d been in a long time. The moon was bright and full, encircled by a halo of light in a dark navy sky, almost completely clear of cloud now.

 

A large tongue lapped at Harry’s arm and he gave a small grumble of pleasure, rolling onto his side to face Fenrir so that cold muzzle could nose between the folds of his cloak and press against his stomach. Most likely awake due to the excitement of the moon, the cub inside gave a brushing swipe to his insides and Harry stroked on the opposite side to Fenrir’s questing nose. Caring less now with his inhibitions vanished along with his conscious thought, Harry shrugged off the over-warm cloak so he could feel more of Fenrir’s fur against his skin and closed his eyes. Everything was good.

 

*           *           *

 

“I just don’t understand what triggers it, that’s all,” Harry said as he walked at Fenrir’s side, Ghost and Kirian thick as thieves as they ran a good few feet ahead. The forest of Shae was always calm at this time of year. The summer heat made the other creatures lazy and languid, sprawling out uselessly in hopes of catching a hint of breeze. Sweat beaded down between Harry’s shoulder blades and he wiped his brow with the back of his hand. It was warm, but surely not _this_ warm? Kirian and Fenrir seemed to be embracing the climate comfortably enough. He was used to unnatural heat bothering him on the days preceding the moon, but with it gone, he’d thought he’d be feeling more himself.

 

“No one knows what triggers it,” Fenrir explained. “It’s different for every born cub. Usually it’s not until after they hit puberty but it can vary. My alpha said it was a sign of the strength of your magical core.” He glanced ahead to Kirian, carefree and oblivious as he should be. “I know you want the answers to everything but sometimes you can’t explain it. Nature just…is,” Fenrir said, brushing his knuckles against Harry’s stomach through his loose cotton shirt. “Some things are no more predictable than when you’ll whelp. You can’t control everything. You just have to let things happen sometimes.” His blue eyes sparkled in the dazzling summer sun as he regarded Harry. “I think you realised that last night.”

 

Harry snorted and said nothing, but he knew Fenrir would understand that, yes, he had, whether his pride allowed him to say it or not. “I suppose I’m not a complete failure as a dad if he’s so well-adjusted,” Harry mused. No matter what the Dursleys, Voldemort, the rogue wolves and everyone else had done, they hadn’t fucked him up completely. He was still him. Even if he was boiling hot. He scrubbed at the back of his neck. “Can we go this way?” he asked, already heading in that direction, toward the sound and smell of water.

 

“Kirian!” Fenrir called and gestured with his hand. Kirian gave a visible sniff and beamed, bolting through the trees with Ghost and out of sight. Harry tensed briefly but let him go. He could smell him, the pool was only just ahead and he had Ghost. It was easier than it’d once been to let go.

 

When they finally reached the water, Kirian was pulling his shirt and shorts off quickly. Harry smirked and followed suit. It felt good to step into the water. He groaned aloud, wading in until he was deep enough that when he sat, he was submerged to the neck. He felt so tired and aching – everywhere. He watched Fenrir transform, watched Kirian and Ghost jump into the water after him and closed his eyes. The sound of water splashing and playful growls a balm to his agitated nerves. He felt on edge, fidgety even in the soothing cool water. The sun was so hot on the back of his neck. He grumbled softly, scrambling out of the water, his mate hadn’t noticed but it didn’t matter. He slipped into the trees, snagging his discarded clothing as he went.

 

The breeze was nice on his wet skin, he relished it as he stepped through the warm grass, searching the ground as he followed the path of the way they’d come. He’d seen it on their way here…

 

At last, the fork in the river that twisted through the forest was in sight. Had his right mind been with him, he would have felt a shiver upon seeing the place he’d visited in the limbo-like state after Voldemort had killed him. Now it only held a flicker of peaceful nostalgia. He turned his head, spying the large curve of an ancient tree root that had risen far above the ground. He moved toward it, easing to his knees and digging with his palms. The warm dirt moved easily, the magic humming in his palms easily scooping it aside and drying the dip in the ground that was left behind.

He glanced around, neck stretched to survey the area before sliding inside, taking the soft clothing with him. He longed for the soft fur he’d left behind in his den and whined softly. Curling up under the shelter of the broad reaching root, he closed his eyes. After a moment, the cloak he longed for zipped into sight and he scrabbled for it with hasty fingers, pulling it over him even though it was hot. The magic in him reared up without being summoned and a satisfying coolness swept over him under the material. He was hidden from head to foot and cool inside the earth. Safe. Ready.

“Harry?!” He heard a voice and shifted, turning over onto his other side to burrow his head deeper into the fur, the cloth.

 

“Harry?! Bloody answer me!” The voice was louder now. Harry could hear and smell his mate. Still too far away to risk making a noise though. He couldn’t be discovered here. Then, there was a soft snuffling at the nape of his neck and Harry shifted, turning his head to see Ghost’s head poking under the blanket. He hummed softly, dragging fingers over Ghost’s ears appreciatively, he made a space for him in the hollow with him but Ghost seemed to hesitate. Harry whined. His body was aching, pulsing with waves of pain and he wanted comfort. Wanted safety.

 

Suddenly his fur cloak was being whipped from his head. He pulled Ghost down hard into the hollow with him and bared his teeth at the assailant above, snarling and blinking hard, momentarily blinded by the bright sky. A sharp growl sounded back and Harry stopped at the sound. His mate’s human face hovered above him, fingers clenched around his blanket.

 

 

Instincts flickered through Fenrir like a fire being ignited by a match. The sight and smell of his mate’s approaching whelp made his own nature burn hotly beneath the surface. But not now. Not yet. He reached down, cupping the side of Harry’s chest and brushing a thumb across a darkened nipple firmly. Harry hissed in pain and a thin milky discharge followed in the wake of Fenrir’s rough thumb.

 

“Shit,” he snarled, looking down at his pale mate with encroaching panic. He put the flat of his palm against his forehead, feeling him heating up and pulled a squinted eyelid up. Gold eyes stared up at him reproachfully. His mate curled up tighter around Ghost as another ripple of pain pulsed through him. No. “Not here,” he said, voice roughened as his own wolf clawed at his insides. He glanced around. It wasn’t safe. They had to get back into the den. Fuck. “Kirian?!” he called. The boy was nowhere in sight.

 

“Bloody hell… Kirian!” Nothing. With a final glance at his mate, Fenrir pulled the cloak back over him and covered him carefully, before letting the change take him. As a wolf, he moved to the edge of the tree, just away from Harry and marked it with his scent, hoping it’d be enough just for now as he flew off after his son’s scent.

 

Harry curled up as pain licked at his insides, something shifting inside him. Ghost snuggling closer in comfort against his stomach. A low whine left Harry’s lips and then, in the distance, he heard a deep, resonating howl. The sound of the river running nearby was a calming melody, reminding him of something, of rightness. He closed his eyes and just breathed, letting that feeling of belonging guide him. He could smell his mate. It was warm here.

 

Another howl, further away this time, apparently answering the first. A dozen whining, low cries replied, closer. Not his mate but still familiar. Snuffling sounded around his den, a nose nuzzling against his feet through the fur. Harry grumbled in displeasure, pulling his head back to see the wolves that usually guarded the tunnels gathered round him, all softly swaying tails and pricked ears. Harry’s confusion as to their presence ended, however as he saw his mate heading toward him, Kirian at his side. They were his guard for now.

 

He cocked his head at the sight of Kirian. He wanted him close. Fenrir too. Laying back in the hollow, he waited for them to join him.

 

“Daddy?” Kirian asked, leaning over the tree root to stare down at him. “Why are you in a hole?”

 

“Kirian,” Fenrir said, voice roughened by wafer-thin control. “Let them take you back, I’ll follow behind with your dad.”

 

“But…” Kirian leant over further, patting at Harry’s clammy forehead. “He’s sick.”

 

Fenrir grumbled with frustration, “He’s not.” He pressed his thumb into the corner of Harry’s lip, tugging it up to see sharp white fangs, signifying just how close he was. “The cub’s coming, now go.” But as he reached to pull Harry out of the gap under the tree root, Harry snapped at him and edged back, watching him with irritation. Fenrir growled warningly. “Come,” he demanded. “You can’t do it out here.”

 

The growl burning in the back of Harry’s throat grew louder. Kirian ducked his head, circling round his parents and heading away from the confrontation as he knew to, glancing back over his shoulder only once as the wolves escorted him up stream toward the Valley. Fenrir dragged a hand through his hair in frustration, barely holding onto his senses. “Get,” he said to Ghost, who whined as he shuffled out of the dip in the ground and bounded after Kirian. This shouldn’t have any witnesses; it was going to be ugly.

 

Whirling on his heel, Fenrir seized the fur cloak covering Harry’s lower half and pulled them over his head, bundling him up in the material and lugging him up into his arms, effectively trapping him in the material. Snarling and clawing frantically within, Harry’s jaws latched onto the fabric inside, just missing catching Fenrir’s shoulder in the process.

 

“Enough,” Fenrir murmured, words barely discernable from the warning rumble in his chest. He glanced through the trees and closed his eyes, holding tightly to the struggling body in his arms, apparating to the Valley doorway. At least that shortened the distance somewhat. As soon as he was inside the tunnels, however, he knew it wasn’t going to work like this. Harry was struggling out of his arms and in his condition, Fenrir couldn’t safely restrain him.

 

He lowered Harry to the ground and the sound that ripped from his lips was a roaring, frustrated snarl. The bundle that was Harry froze and Fenrir sat back, feeling his control dwindle. He swallowed as the change took him, dragging fur and bones into unnatural shapes until he was on all fours, watching his mate shrink back to regard him warily, before bolting up the tunnels and out of sight.

 

The silver wolf huffed, dragging the forgotten fur cloak between his teeth and following after his mate’s scent. The soft glow from the columns of light soothed his nerves. He heard Kirian and the others enter into the tunnels behind him somewhere and pressed on. When he rounded the corner a sharp whine ripped through the air and he stared down at his mate, naked and crumpled and cupping his stomach with a wince as he backed away from him. Fenrir grumbled consolingly, bowing his head, exposing his throat, the cloak clenched tightly in his teeth. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched, waiting for his panicked mate to decide.

 

The caves were cool, too cool for the cub about to be born and Fenrir felt increasing desperation that he knew was travelling through their connection. Harry tensed, one hand still holding himself while the other steadied himself on the ground. Harry regarded him guardedly but did not make a sound.

 

Cautiously, Fenrir edged forward, head still low, but high enough that he could drop the fur around his mate’s shoulders. He waited, only a few inches between them now. But then Harry shifted, pulling the cloak tighter round him and Fenrir bowed his head, using a large paw to pull Harry tight into his chest. They stayed like that as the next wave of pain pulsed through his mate’s body, Harry rocking slightly on his heels and letting out low, guttural sounds of anguish, sounds he’d not been present for last time. This time would be different.

_Like they should have been the first time._ The words echoed through his mind, perhaps Harry’s mind too, for those fingers knotted in the fur at his shoulders and anchored Harry’s weight as his mate pulled himself unsteadily to his feet. A low whine brushed against his fur. Harry nestled into it, holding on tight. After a moment, Fenrir walked on, letting Harry lean on him as they approached the gates. The panic was over now; this was the way it was meant to be. They were doing this together.

 

 

_To Be Continued…_


	8. Heavenly

It’s so bittersweet to post the final chapter of this story. I hope it rounds up Harry and Fenrir’s story nicely. Thank you so much to everyone who’s been on this journey with me and everyone who’s turned up after its completion. This story means so much to me and I’m so happy to share it with you all. I’m going to write a long one-shot for Echo and Draco for sure that’ll be posted soon. Maybe one day in the future I’ll write another adventure for our favourite werewolf family but for now this story is done. It’s been a difficult year for and you’ve all made it so much more bearable. I can’t thank you enough beautiful people. Please enjoy!

 

_**UPDATE 15/Feb/2018:** Hi Guys! For those of you that were looking forward to the Echo/Draco one-shot, I haven't forgotten it. Something came up in real life that actually happens to Draco in the story as I was writing it that meant I just couldn't continue it right then. But I'm okay now and I will get round to finishing the one-shot for you guys :) I've got a few stories for some other fandoms I wanted to post as well as a Draco/Harry one and I think once I'm focussing on the Draco/Harry one I will also work on the Echo/Draco one-shot simultaneously. I like to keep my fandoms together ;) Thank you for your patience and sorry for the wait - I haven't forgotten, promise!_

 

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Heavenly

Chapter Eight

The steps through the Valley were a blur, with soft mutterings carrying from their pack mates who kept a knowing distance. When Harry finally released his grip on Fenrir’s fur, they were in the warmth of their den and the lights went low, as if sensing that was what was needed at this moment. Harry slid onto their bed, shedding the fur cloak and curling up on his side, just breathing for now.

 

The silver wolf curled around him, watching the door that had closed behind them. He could smell Kirian just beyond it, he was safe too. Everything was going to be alright. He couldn’t say those words aloud right now, but instead nosed at the back of Harry’s head, licking gently. Harry arched his neck and fidgeted awkwardly for some time, rocking forward onto his knees and burying his face in the furs. He cried out, the sound almost human this time. Fenrir’s ears flicked. He shuddered and as his muscles rippled with the movements, they morphed back and his human body sat beside Harry, a large hand cupping the back of his neck.

 

Forcing his mind to provide something, anything he thought would help ease the pain thrumming through him that was not his own, Fenrir found himself whispering gruffly, “Harry. I’m here.” The sound was almost foreign on his tongue, gravel-rough and low, but Harry rocked forward a final time and cocked his head to look at him through a sweaty fringe. There was a flicker of a smile within the grimace.

 

Harry nodded. He couldn’t speak, his instincts still superior but he understood. He knew he wasn’t alone this time. Usually green eyes flicked to the door and Fenrir rubbed his back in slow, deliberate circles. “Kirian…Safe,” the Alpha said. Again, a nod was his only answer. Harry closed his eyes and continued rocking slowly on his hands and knees.

 

When the sun had dipped below the horizon, a tired, sweat-damp Harry lay sprawled on his side, almost unconscious from exertion. Fenrir swept his fringe back off his forehead and let his thumb caress the scar there in silent promise. Then he felt Harry wince, heard him let out a low, surprised gasp. He reached between his legs and Fenrir’s nose twitched as he inhaled the odd smell, the one that’d clung to their bed all those years ago, when he’d arrived to see the carnage of birth but no Kirian and no Harry.

 

Gritting his teeth, Fenrir looked down and saw the sheets damp beneath him. Unsure how best to act, he reached to help Harry off of the wet patch of bed but Harry growled in negation, crawling forward to grab hold of the thick wooden carved headboard. He shifted on his knees, spreading them wide and bowed his head into the headboard between his spread hands.

 

Fenrir wanted to lean in, to comfort him.The low rumble in Harry’s throat as he tensed was all the warning he needed. This was the test he had to face, to be there for his mate but let nature take its course at the same time. “Love,” Fenrir managed roughly, his tongue too big and his teeth too large in his human mouth as he tried to grasp what the human part of his mate might want to hear. Might need to hear.

 

“Fenrir?” Harry whispered back, his voice low, almost unrecognisable as his own. Fenrir shifted to kneel at Harry’s side and stroked his sweaty hair, noting the gold eyes and fangs that made his name sound all wrong.

 

“Mmm.” Fenrir leant in, covering Harry’s hands with one of his and closing his eyes. “Love you.” It was all raspy emotion and wolf nipping at the edge but it was theirs. Harry didn’t answer. He tucked his head down into his chest and screamed.

 

It felt as if his innards were ripping in four different directions and pushing in to squeeze him to death from the inside at the same time. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t fill his lungs with air no matter how hard he panted. He tucked his chin harder into his chest until it dug painfully into the skin and braced against the stretching, aching anguish. It was too much. Surely worse than before? Before the panic and the activity around him had distracted from it, he was sure, so sure…

 

A defeated low whine tumbled over his lips, a sharp stabbing whimper that twisted into a growl of determination. He let go of the headboard with one hand and cupped his pulsing stomach. He thought he was being split in two. The hand covering his, still gripping the headboard squeezed, as did the one massaging the nape of his neck. The latter slid down, covering the small of his back and for a moment, there was nothing, until a low, vibrating hum began to emanate from the rough fingers massaging firmly into that spot.

 

Harry groaned, not in pleasure or arousal but sheer relief. Magic was pulsing through him there and it spread, filling him with calming peace. A rough sound torn between hysteric laughter and a grunt left him and he kept his head down, gripping the headboard with both hands again.

 

So close.

 

As he relaxed, as he bore into the stretching, aching pain, he felt something slide further down. He shifted his legs wider, grit his teeth and bore down again. Again and again. He was gasping again, even despite his mate’s magic as something pushed against his entrance. Panic burst in his throat like a torn artery and he choked, stunned for a moment at the sheer impossibility of it. He couldn’t. It wouldn’t, even if he knew he had to, it seemed unachievable.

 

The hand covering his squeezed again. He cried out and pushed through the doubt, the overwhelming, suffocating weight inside him. He felt something give and didn’t stop. The rush of twisting pain was coming so fast he could barely draw breath in between them but he could suck in air frantically and bear into it.

 

Instinctively, he released the headboard and tucked his arms under himself, lowering his upper body to the bed and giving a final push before something wet, slimy and wriggly landed softly between his legs on the already wet sheets. He didn’t move. It was impossible. For a moment he was blind and immobile, able only to listen at the first gurgling screech his child took. He smiled dazedly, even as everything hurt and his body still trembled with spasms inside, eager to expel the rest of his pregnancy.

 

He felt movement and when he opened his eyes it was to see his mate leaning back at his side against the headboard, a naked infant damp with fluids against his chest. There was blood too, his, Harry’s blood. Harry frowned but the child smelt whole, smelt bursting with life and it was squalling loudly, clearing its throat of any lingering mucus. He closed his eyes and tried to breath again as his body finished what it started.

 

He was so exhausted that he was sure he passed out, because the next thing he knew, he was lying on his side on the far side of the bed, away from the damp mess of sheets on the clean stretch of furs. A hand wet with his own blood was stroking his head gently. His glasses were gone.

 

Lashes fluttering, Harry squinted to see his mate’s hand retreating,see him morphing into the silver wolf’s body. The large beast was licking at their infant’s skin, cleaning it, letting it know this was his sire. The cord, Harry noted had already been bitten and sealed, but that was fine, he really was too tired and Fenrir, Fenrir needed to be the one to do it, he supposed.

 

“S’good,” he muttered, his human mind nowhere near in control but still lapping in and out like an ever-present tide. All of him was there, he hadn’t missed a beat but he wasn’t afraid to let things move the way nature intended for now. This must’ve been how Draco felt when he’d had Astrid. Aware but calm, tired but happy, safe, warm. It was good.

 

His cub made a little whine as Fenrir nudged it onto its side so he could lick its back clean and Harry stretched one arm out, the other stroking his abused, nearly flat stomach. From where he lay, just the tip of his outstretched fingers could brush a tiny foot. He crooned softly and the infant fell silent, squinting tiny eyes open. A piercing ice blue gaze looked straight at him and after a heartbeat, a low, almost matching croon answered him.

 

Harry’s eyes stung as everything overcame him. When a tear broke free and slid down his cheek, a huge wet tongue swiped it up. He winced, making a sound of protest but as he glanced up, he saw Fenrir sitting at his feet, still a wolf and nudging their cub gently with his paw. It looked so impossible, such a large beast touching such a tiny, pink thing, more human looking now it was clean. The nudge did the trick though and Harry bore the pain to reach for his fussing cub. The hair that was wet with antiseptic saliva now seemed to be a light mousey colour, perhaps Fenrir’s hair colour before Azakaban had turned it dark silver. He made the crooning sound again as he cradled the infant against his bare chest and pulled the clean edge of fur up round it slightly, closing his eyes again.

 

The silver wolf’s tongue lapped at the bloody hand print on his head and he bore it, allowed the wolf to clean him and take care of him as he’d done their cub. There was a soft sound of tired protest from the warm nook between his chest and arm, covered by furs. He glanced down and pressed his thumb to the corner of that tiny protesting mouth, helping it open and drawing it close so it could latch.

 

The sharp pain that lanced his chest made him cry out and the tongue that had been cleaning his back now paused. An aching, drawing sensation pulled and at the same time filled him with memories so potent they stole his breath. He glanced down at the little warm nook and saw a different face from his memories, similar but undeniably different. The tiny hands were curled contently now and when he inhaled, the scent was that of relaxed satisfaction too. He ducked his head to sniff eagerly at the curls of hair drying beneath his nose and let exhaustion take him.

 

 

When he opened is eyes again his body ached but any lingering stabbing pain or throbbing was gone. He still felt tired and his eyes felt nowhere near rested. He discovered that was because not much time seemed to have passed. But he felt clean, his mate was still a wolf, tugging the stained sheets off the bed with his teeth and pushing them into a far corner.

 

Harry frowned as he saw him heading toward the door and sat up. The sheet that had been covering him slid off and his slumbering little bundle fidgeted, whinging unhappily. Harry glanced down at the pale, perfect skin and reached for the cloth that almost matched the one Kirian still clung to, wrapping the tiny cub in the fabric and cradling it safely against his chest as he shifted laboriously up the bed. By the time he was leaning back against the pillows on the far (clean) side, it was apparent what Fenrir was doing. He’d managed to get the door open with a large paw and then Kirian was there, arms overloaded with blankets and furs. His nose twitched and Ghost stepped in behind him, before Fenrir nudged the door shut again.

 

“Smells funny,” Kirian murmured and Fenrir huffed, leading Kirian and Ghost toward the bed.

 

Kirian spread the new sheets and furs on the bed and then clambered up and over onto Harry, accidently kneeing him in the stomach in his eagerness. Harry cried out, turning his head away to try and muffle the sound but Kirian froze. Bright green eyes filled with tears and Kirian scrambled back to the end of the bed. It must’ve been scary, to see his father be completely taken over when he himself was in his right mind.He’d only ever seen Harry succumb when he too was under influence of the moon, after all.

 

Fenrir slid onto the bed, his massive body taking up one side and Harry pulled the furs with him, covering himself up to the shoulders so the cub cradled in his arm could still be seen and wouldn’t be suffocated. A heavy sigh left him as he leant his pained body into Fenrir’s side, resting completely there and letting the massive muzzle snuffle at his head and neck and then the cub’s.

 

The infant whimpered in its sleep and Harry made an unnatural, animalistic hushing sound similar to his earlier croons. The noise made Kirian cock his head and Harry smiled at him, eyes still gold but teeth returned to their normal state again to make for a more pleasant sight. He pulled back the furs a little. Kirian crawled forward, more slowly this time until he too was lying against Fenrir having his head sniffed at, tucked into the nook between Harry’s curled body and Fenrir’s stomach.

 

Ghost settled easily on Harry’s feet but Kirian was still tense, looking from Harry to the little creature swaddled close to his chest. Harry nodded, adjusting his hold so the child’s face wasn’t turned into his body so. Kirian didn’t move and didn’t acknowledge the subtle invitation.

 

“K…Kirian,” Harry managed, struggled through, voice rough.He brought his free hand up to stroke his son’s face, touch his hair and then touch the cub’s in the same way, hoping he would understand. “Both,” he said.

 

Kirian blinked big green eyes before reaching up to touch Harry’s face then, more hesitatingly, the cub’s. His fingers offered barely-there touches and Harry covered his tiny hand to let him connect a little more firmly, let him feel and smell that thick head of hair and entirely new scent. “Kirian’s.”

 

Kirian nodded, relaxing a little now and leaning into Harry a bit more, not looking away from the sleeping newborn. In this bizarre moment, Kirian was the one who was most in control, most aware of everything and yet he still didn’t look like he understood what was happening. “Are you ok?” he asked and Harry smiled again, letting his cheek rest on Fenrir’s fur. He nodded and curled the arm not supporting his newborn round Kirian so he was holding them both. This felt good. So good. Perfect.

 

“Good,” he managed, just because Kirian needed it and the last of that resistance seemed to fade. It must’ve been late because Kirian looked bone-tired too, his eyes puffy and a large yawn tugging his mouth wide. Harry closed his eyes, catching the yawn. As he was drifting though, he felt Kirian nuzzle into him closer, felt a soft human nose pressing against the newborn’s head, sniffing deeply and then…

 

“Dad? Where’s his winkie?”

 

*                       *                        *

 

A soft, underdeveloped little cry tugged him from sleep. Harry blinked. The room was softly lit by the glow of the columns but the light picked up a little as he shifted up in bed, wiping sleep from his eyes. He glanced down and with still sleep-weary eyes, pulled the little wriggly bundle to his chest. Then stopped. His nose wrinkled and he sighed, laying the baby down on the bed and opening his hand, wandlessly summoning his glasses.

 

Then it all came back to him, just as it’d done in that cupboard all those years ago with Kirian. He’d been recuperating with his instincts in charge and now, apparently the time had passed. He remembered quite a few meals and the sounds of the evening celebrations outside in the circle. A few days at least then.

 

Harry glanced around to find the den empty and winced as he slid off the vast bed to the shelves nearby to snag a clean cloth nappy off the stack. He unfastened the soiled one, holding his daughter’s feet up to keep her dirty backside elevated as he banished the mess and the soiled nappy, sliding a clean one under her. He frowned a little. He’d thought it’d feel weird, changing a girl but it was no different to Kirian really. There was just something missing. Magic made it all easier regardless.

 

He fastened the clean nappy and left her unswaddled for a moment so he could better look at her. Ten perfect tiny fingers and toes. He touched each one and then a tiny nose that reminded him of Kirian’s. She blinked up at him and he smiled. Her eyes were still ice blue. Like Fenrir’s. Her hair was a light mousey colour and she was fidgeting endlessly. Yes, that was the little fidget he remembered from inside him.

 

“Hello, beautiful,” he said softly, his voice feeling raw and ragged in his unused throat. He snagged a deep drink from the pitcher of water from the side then swaddled his baby girl back up, pulling her to his chest and sitting up against the bed. Mmm, no, he fancied a bath. A tongue bath most definitely didn’t count.

 

Snatching up the bouncer that’d been one of his gifts at the shower,he carried it and his daughter into the bathing room. With her fastened into it a good distance from the edge, he could slide into the water and keep an eye on her at the same time.Sinking down to his neck, he groaned at the sheer bliss of the warm, soothing water. He still felt tired and weak but everything else seemed fine. No aches, no pains. He closed his eyes for a second to enjoy the steam.

 

“Harry?” a voice called, sounding slightly panicked from the other room.

 

Harry cleared his throat. “In here,” he said and a moment later Fenrir was in the room, glancing from the baby to him and seeming to realise Harry was back to his usual self.

 

“Welcome back,” he said warmly, kneeling down beside the bouncer and scooping the baby girl up easily. It was such a warm sight. An odd one, to see such a delicate little girl cradled in powerful muscle, but good nonetheless. Harry smiled, sinking beneath the water to wet his hair and washing it quickly with the nearby shampoo. When he was clean, he climbed out the bath, mindful of his lingering weakness. Fenrir was still watching him as he dried himself.

 

“Do you remember when we had our first shower with Kirian at Grimmauld Place?” Harry asked, towel drying his hair and body. It felt good to talk after so long of only growling and grumbling.

 

Fenrir nodded with a wistful smile, watching him carefully. “We’ll give her her first bath together when she’s ready. How’re you feeling?”

 

“Mmm,” Harry said, dropping the towel and reaching for the long tunic shirt and shorts that sat on the shelf. When he was fully dressed, he came up short, torn between wanting to pull the cub back into his arms and admiring the sight of her with Fenrir.

 

“Still feeling the pull?” Fenrir mused, cupping the side of Harry’s throat affectionately before easing the baby back into Harry’s arms. “She’s perfect, Harry. And you were amazing.”

 

A flush touched Harry’s cheeks. “And she’s a ‘she’,” he said with a smirk. “How’s Kirian taking it?”

 

Fenrir snorted. “He says he’s going to have to take extra special care of her. He seemed delighted when he told Eithne just now – he was itching to tell her. He’s with her and Teddy now.”

 

They walked back into the living area and sat on the circle by the currently extinguished fire. It was warm still, but more comfortably so in the den. There was a tray of food nearby and Harry lay his daughter next to him as he pulled it toward him, eating hungrily. His stomach gurgled. The meat was rare but perfect. He took a swig of the juice as well and continued eating before he realised Fenrir was sitting next to him.

 

“I mean it, you were amazing,” he said reverently, “I’ve never seen anything like it. Anything so…” He frowned, searching for the word. “Incredible.” His frown deepened then. “You tore a little.”

 

Harry swallowed his mouthful, the pain a dull memory. “It felt like it, yeah,” he said indifferently. Pain was something he’d always had a high tolerance to. It wasn’t something that had the ability to break him. It had been the emasculation he’d been worried about but he felt strangely…liberated. He felt like his normal self despite his sore chest. He flushed as he realised something about the tearing and the other ailments that seemed to have vanished. “Fixed that, did you?”

 

Fenrir gave him a smirk.

 

“I don’t even want to know what you did with the afterbirth,” Harry said, but even that image couldn’t stop him from eating. He was famished.

 

With a laugh, Fenrir looked down and stroked the little girl’s hair from her cheek. She blinked up at Fenrir, quite content for the moment. “She’s stunning.”

 

“Must take after me,” Harry mused, only to earn a nudge in the side. He snorted and finished his food and the juice before setting the tray aside and lifting his daughter so she was laying against his drawn up knees. “I was really worried about how I’d handle a girl; you know?” he said thoughtfully.

 

“And now?” Fenrir murmured, shifting so he was leaning on his elbow on his side and regarding them both freely.

 

“Now?Now I just think she’s ours and healthy and perfect and that’s all that matters,” Harry said with a shrug. “She is gorgeous though. I don’t know how a pair of fuck-ups like us make such good looking children.”

 

Fenrir laughed again and the sound was warm. They sat together for some time, Fenrir filling in the scattered gaps in Harry’s memory. It’d been nearly a week. Fenrir had brought him food while Harry had remained in bed, accepting only Fenrir, Kirian and Ghost close to him. He’d kept the den mostly dark and cared for the cub himself.

 

“You let some of the pack come in to offer gifts,” Fenrir said, gesturing to some of the baby clothes and toys stacked in the corner. “But there’s someone…well, _a few someones_ who arrived a day after she did. They’ve been waiting for a suitable time to honour her and you with gifts from their pack.”

 

Harry bristled unintentionally. He already knew what Fenrir was about to say. “Dromon,” he said roughly. “He wants to see her.”

 

“Fyerhyde and Keenantoo,” Fenrir said, voice giving nothing away, “they want to see you as well, to honour you as well as our daughter.” Fenrir always spoke so formally when talking about werewolf traditions and customs.

 

Harry shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the door as if someone would storm through at any moment. The thought of even his own pack entering his den with his vulnerable cub was unthinkable. He swallowed again, uneasy, looking longingly at his bed now. He’d forgotten this part when he’d had Kirian, the unwillingness to share his delicate newborn, the instinctive need to hide it away from the world.

 

“They can wait ‘til you’re ready,” Fenrir said, bruishing his knuckles along the nape of Harry’s neck. “Everyone knows how this works.”

 

Harry bit the inside of his mouth. “But you want them to see her, don’t you?”

 

Fenrir’s expression was unreadable. “I want to show you both off, when you’re ready,” he said simply, his pride showing through. After a long, thoughtful pause, Harry listened carefully to the noise from outside.

 

“Is it the lunch round outside at the moment?” he asked, biting the inside of his mouth hard. This first step had been the most difficult with Kirian too, he remembered that clearly now. When Fenrir merely nodded his answer, Harry echoed the motion. “Good.”

 

The direct sunlight was warm and bright as he stepped out into it, Fenrir close at his side. A feral rumble of apprehension made him tighten his arms around his daughter and he swallowed, the sight of the pack and some extra bodies gathered in the stone circle, eating jovially making his stomach flip. Oddly, he caught Malfoy’s eye first and gave a small nod, forcing himself to move toward the vacant space he and Fenrir usually occupied.

 

Everything fell silent as he seated himself. He wondered if they hadn’t expected to see him so soon or if it was uncommon for someone like him to step into such a social situation. There was no way of knowing. He shifted the sleeping baby girl in one arm and tried to find his voice as every eye fixed on him.

 

“Don’t let me stop you,” he said, his voice almost sounding like his own now. “I’ve already eaten.” They complied at a more sedate pace, all eyes flickering often to him and the cub in his lap. Kirian, who had left Eithne’s side to sandwichhimself between Harry and Draco, leant up to look at her and smiled at Harry.

 

“She’s really small,” he said brightly.

 

“You’ll have to take extra care of her then, won’t you?” Draco said and Kirian nodded seriously, biting into his lunch eagerly. A smile twitched at the corners of Draco’s mouth as he met Harry’s eyes. “How are those tits feeling, Potter?” he muttered for Harry’s ears only.

 

Harry flushed darkly. “Fuck off, dickwad,” he muttered without bite.

 

Draco laughed. “Oh, there’s Potter alright. I have missed your wit. A growling, hormonal dog just isn’t the same.” His smile broadened as he sipped at his drink and tried to stop Astrid from wriggling out of his arms. “You’ve missed so much.” He gestured with his head to their right and Harry blinked. Once. Twice. Larentia was sitting a few spaces down from them, with a fairly comfortable looking Snape at her side. Same dark robes and almost twist of a smile. Definitely Snape.

 

Larentia’s long fingers grasped his knee as she laughed quietly, her usually severe face softened somewhat.

 

“When did…?” he began but his words were cut short as a shadow fell over him. He tensed, a growl beginning in his throat even as the three guests knelt before him, heads bowed. Dromon, Keenan and Fyerhyde. None of them lifted their heads, but the Alpha did raise his eyes cautiously while the others kept theirs averted. A sign of deepest respect. Harry felt everyone’s instincts humming just below the surface, all in reverence for the little girl snuggled against him.

 

Still, it was most bizarre to have your ex-teacher kneeling in front of you.

 

With everything ringing in his ears, Harry lifted his chin, keeping eyes on the three as he pulled the soft swaddling cloth away from his daughter’s face a little, all the better for everyone to see. Dromon let out a low sound of awe. His usually stern eyes glistened and he visibly swallowed, reaching in his cloak for something and producing a simple silver-hued chain with a small yet ornate pendant hanging on the end.

 

It must’ve beenforged from platinum, Harry guessed because Dromon was holding it without difficulty. Dromon lifted it up but rather than take the hanging chain, Harry raised his palm to cup the pendant. It was roughly the size of a muggle fifty pence piece, but oddly shaped.A smooth stone that seemed to glow brightest silver and then when the light caught it, flicker with such a multitude of colours that he struggled to identify each. It was like a rainbow trapped within the claws of platinum.

 

“Lupus Quartz,” Fenrir murmured beside him, even his voice roughened by wonder. He glanced at Dromon. “Impossible to find. Where did you get it?”

 

Dromon cocked his head and smiled wistfully. “Our lands used to house a mine for the ore. It is all but depleted now, but this…this stone was said to belong to the first witch. It makes the wearer immune to silver.”

 

Harry felt Fenrir tense beside him and knew what he was thinking, what horrors from his past he was recalling. Harry let his thumb brush the stone. “It’s warm,” he murmured and then glanced down as his little girl shifted in his arms, piercing blue eyes riveted to the sparkling blur above her. She was mesmerised. Harry sighed softly. “We can’t accept this, it’s too–”

 

“It is a gift for your cub, Alpha Numero, to honour our…treaty, to prove to you how sincere we are. We all honour the traditions of old and while we may have different opinions, that does not mean we must battle every step of the way.” He bowed his head again, keeping the pendant aloft. “Please, wear it until your daughter is old enough to carry it herself. Our pack believe it was meant for you.”

 

Harry hesitated. But it was for the baby in his arms, who already seemed enamored with it. He slid his hand up to take the pendant, but at the last moment, Fenrir took it instead, dropping it over Harry’s head. As he did so, Dromon shifted back, still kneeling at Harry’s feet which made him feel uncomfortably like royalty. The pendant was warm against his chest. The girl in his arms was studying it still with blinking eyes, a little frown on her face that looked so much like Kirian that Harry ached. Kirian stroked her head softly, glancing from her to Harry and he wondered if his little boy, always so in tune with his emotions, had sensed his flicker of nostalgia.

 

Keenan was leaning forward then, head bowed but eyes raised as his father had done. “Please, Alpha Numero, accept this gift for your cub and allow me to honour the treaty between our packs.” He lifted a small box with a glass lid. Inside, Harry could see a near-translucent fish that’s scales glowed gold and silver. “It is said for its restorative properties. Quite difficult to catch, but the nutrients for you and hence your cub are said to be unparalleled. My wife enchanted the case to keep it fresh.” He lifted it more insistently. “Please, take it.”

 

Fyerhyde said nothing but did offer a pleased smile that Harry couldn’t help but return.

 

Harry nodded, unable to take the box himself with the girl in his arms, leaving Echo took it for him. This done, Dromon, Keenan and Fyerhyde remained kneeling and Harry glanced to Fenrir, uncertain. When his packmates had visited him to bestow gifts on his daughter, he’d acknowledged them in some way. Was this what this was meant to be? Uniting their packs?

 

Swallowing back the low pulse of warring protectiveness, Harry slid forward and grasped the back of Dromon’s neck, pressing their foreheads together. He kept his eyes open and gave a short nod, allowing the man’s large hand to pet his daughter’s delicate head. The ultimate union of trust. He set his jaw, only allowing the smallest sound of distress to boil in his throat as Keenan and Fyerhyde did the same and then he sat back, feeling giddy from the rush of wolf instincts.

 

“Thank you,” he said. His daughter fidgeted in his arms, kicking her legs weakly. “I hope you know as soon as I’ve…recovered a bit, I’ll honour my promise to share my gift with your pack. You two first, as promised.”

 

This timeFyerhyde spoke, shifting back away from Harry and onto her feet again as her husband rose beside her. “Yes. Alpha Numero, thank you. In your own time of course.” Her smile broadened as she regarded Harry and his children. “We can happily wait a little longer for the chance at our own miracle.” She squeezed her husband’s hand and they both stepped away, retaking their seats. Dromon, however, leant forward and to Harry’s shock, took the hand not supporting his daughter and pressed his wrinkled, stubble-circled lips to it.

 

“Bless you,” he muttered and Harry blinked, stupefied by the show of reverence even as the man joined his son. The circle bubbled with talk once again and Harry stared at his hand, startled when Fenrir covered it with his own. The stark contrast of darker, worn skin against his was a comfort. Harry met blue eyes searchingly.

 

“Dromon is a stubborn man, but the sight of a newborn cub, the miracle of being allowed to touch and the honour of being able to present it with gifts, it’s no small thing for us. You know this,” Fenrir said, voice low and gravelly. “You know what a gift you are to us.”

 

Harry gave a small breathless laugh. “I know _she_ is,” he said, tipping his chin to his daughter. “And Kirian and Astrid but…it’s still bizarre, being so important to everyone. It’s like being the Boy Who Lived all over again.” His brow furrowed at the thought. “Well, not quite the same, I suppose.”

 

“No,” Fenrir agreed roughly. “In this, your life is more precious than anything. It’s not a sacrifice to be made but a miracle to behold. The fact that you are the key to restoring our race is only an enhancement of that miracle.”

 

Harry flushed, tugging his hand away with a smirk. “Ok, no more of that now. It’s weird when you talk all _Alpha Greyback_ to me like that,” he mused and glanced up to see Echo watching him with warm eyes. Harry knew what they meant. He glanced at his daughter again, “We really need to think of a name for her,” he said thoughtfully, inhaling deeply in search of courage as he offered the tiny precious thing in his arms up to Fenrir. “Let everyone have a turn with her, will you? I…I want them to but it’s hard to do the actual…”

 

“Letting go?” Fenrir finished knowingly, his hard face softening as he considered Harry and then the little pink face topped with mousey hair. “I’ll start the rounds. Make sure you take her back if you’re feeling-” He cut off as Harry forced himself to urge Fenrir on and watched with a mixture of delight and anxiety as Echo took her into his arms.

 

“Goodness, don’t get him pining for that newborn scent, Potter,” Draco said woefully, but his expression was telling. Harry smirked at him as, at last, Astrid wriggled out of his arms and crawled frantically across the ground. She let out a squeal of delight as Marrok intercepted her and swooped her up and down like a muggle aeroplane.

 

“So, is the reason you missed me because you want some more _time_ with Echo?” Harry hedged teasingly.

 

Draco flushed. “Sod off, Potter,” he muttered and kept his eyes averted. “Deviant,” he added when Harry kept looking at him. After a long time, when Harry’s daughter had been passed round as far as Amoux, every person more enchanted with her than the last, Harry felt himself shifting anxiously. Malfoy clapped him hard on the back, effectively distracting him from his warring emotions. “So, have you overcome your aversion to pregnancy?” he asked.

 

Harry looked at Kirian, who was clumsily demolishing a large cream finger doughnut, the most of which was all over his face. Carding fingers through tousled auburn hair and earning himself a bright, creamy smile from the little boy, Harry then looked to Fenrir who was talking with Echo and yet had eyes only for the little bundle being passed around. He wore an expression of such pride and contentment that Harry ached a little, facing Draco in defiance of his welling hormones. “You know I think I just might have. I think Fenrir wants five,” he mused with a small laugh.

 

Draco winced. “Good grief, it’ll be a litter to rival the Weasleys.”

 

“Worried you won’t be able to keep up, Malfoy?” Harry hedged, all teasing and no seriousness in his voice. He couldn’t imagine doing all this again another three times but, at least once more, he thought. Three sounded about right. _And it’ll still leave me one leg to stand on,_ he thought ruefully, remembering his conversation with Fenrir all that time ago. When Kirian raised his obscenely large doughnut to Harry, he took a bite and wrapped his arm around his son. “Love you, Kiri,” he said, ignoring Draco’s muttered oaths that were reminiscent of their school days.

 

“Love you Daddy,” he answered automatically, shoving the remains of his doughnut into his mouth whole, so that it was a good few minutes before he could speak again. “Baby Girl is nice too. For a girl.”

 

Harry laughed roughly and squeezed his son gently. “Baby Girl?”

 

Kirian frowned as if Harry were the small child who didn’t understand. “That’s what you call her.”

 

“It’s tradition for the Alpha to name the baby,” Harry explained. “When your Alpha thinks of one, that’ll be her name. He named you.”

 

Kirian blinked, apparently both surprised and pleased.

 

By the time the baby girl had gotten round to Larentia, the woman had an odd look on her face and Harry patted Kirian’s head a final time before approaching her, sliding in between her and Marrok easily. Marrok clapped him on the shoulder and gave him his praise for the tiny child. The circle was full of merriment and joy again as it always was. Except for Larentia, who, though was clearly pleased to be holding the little bundle, seemed troubled.

 

Harry opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong but before he could, Larentia spoke, her voice soft.

 

“She smells like a wolf. She’s going to be like me,” she whispered sadly. “A barren womb where no seed will grow.”

 

Snape, who was silent, grasped her shoulder and Harry met those dark eyes for a moment. He saw the affection there, the same look he’d seen whenever Snape had looked at a growing Kirian whom, he’d confessed quietly (when he thought Harry wouldn’t hear) looked so much like Lily. It was a good sight and Harry nodded before focusing on the distressed woman between them.

 

“Larentia,” he began but she fixed him with wide eyes.

 

“No, that is… I have come to terms with what cannot be and am blessed to be able to treasure our pack’s children, tofind companionship in someone who is not troubled by my inabilities.” She meant Snape and yet did not feel the need to look at him, as if she knew he was there. Snape would never willingly be a werewolf, Harry knew this but then, he thought perhaps that was what attracted Larentia to him – or part of it at least. She needed something outside this pack to complete her life within it.

 

“I do not mourn for myself. Only for her. It has taken me so long to come to terms with this and it has been a journey I would not wish on anyone.”

 

At this point, Snape grasped Larentia’s arm, the one holding the baby and met Harry’s conflicted gaze meaningfully. Harry knew what it meant. He swallowed hard around the surge of revulsion in his throat. “Fenrir was able to tell what I was when he smelled my spilled blood the first time,” he said and looked to his daughter, who was blinking with a frown up at Larentia the way Kirian used to. “She might not be a werewolf. She might be like me,” he said. Then added quickly. “When…when I feel ready perhaps…”

 

But then Fenrir was at their side, kneeling before them and unwrapping his little girl with a look of purpose. Harry knew what was about to happen but before he could clench his eyes shut, he saw Fenrir’s large palm pass over her chubby little foot and wondered. With eyes morbidly fixed to the tender pink flesh, he watched Fenrir poke at her heel with the point of a claw. A tiny drop of blood oozed free but the baby girl didn’t so much as blink.

 

 _Numbing charm,_ he thought, as Fenrir pressed his thumb to the pinprick wound and healed it before more than a droplet could weep free. He drew back the smear of blood on his thumb and sniffed as Larentia re-wrapped the infant in her lap. She too sniffed and a look of such relief took her features that her usually stern eyes welled with tears. “Harry,” she whispered, pulling the baby girl closer and sniffing eagerly at her hair. Harry felt a little prickle of sorrow until he realised that the tears trickling down her cheeks were ones of joy. “She truly is a gift from the heavens. A treasure just as you are.”

 

Flushing furiously, Harry nodded jerkily, leaving Larentia to cherish this moment and distancing himself from the embarrassing praise. His cheeks were still burning as he and Fenrir resumed their seats. A large arm circled the small of his back, hand resting just next to his hip on the seat in an almost embrace. Neither of them spoke for some time, even by the time Eithne (who apparently had been visiting daily in hopes of catching a glimpse of the newborn) pulled the baby into her wrinkled but competent hands. Seeing her grandmotherly devotion there was almost as magical as the unrivalled sight of Fenrir’s face when he looked on their children. It was family, all of this was and it was good. No children had ever been so loved.

 

He only hoped it didn’t all go to their heads as they grew, but Kirian seemed well-adjusted enough, even more so over the last few months. Being a big brother had made him flourish. When eventually it all became too much and his impatient little girl started to grizzle, Harry was stopped in his movements to fetch her by the sound of Kirian leaping to his feet.

 

“I know, I know!” he cried and darted off, Ghost hot on his heels. Before Harry felt the need to snatch his newborn back overcome him, Kirian returned, bouncing eagerly from foot to foot in front of his grandmother.

 

“I don’t need this anymore,” Kirian said brightly and without the slightest hesitation, popped the dummy he was holding into his sister’s mouth. She scowled up at him but sucked hard. Harry hoped it was clean. When the thing wasn’t spat out in rejection but sucked greedily, Harry let out a little startled laugh. He’d forgotten how attached to his soother Kirian used to be, not anymore, apparently. Now he thought about it he couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen it in. The little boy patted his sister’s head (perhaps a little too firmly, for Eithne had to rock her a little to silence her renewed grizzling) and bounded back to Harry’s side with a look of accomplishment.

 

“You didn’t have to, Kiri,” Harry said gently, “we can get her her own one if you want to keep yours a little bit longer?”

 

Kirian blinked at him and then the proud look on Fenrir’s face and beamed, looking so much like Fenrir that it made Harry falter.

 

“I haven’t used it for ages and she needs a gift from me too.”

 

The arm nearly wrapped around Harry stretched to encompass Kirian as well and squeezed. “It’s the best present of the lot, little man,” Fenrir said proudly, “maybe tonight you can help us give her her first proper bath, mmm?”

 

Kirian’s eyes went wide. “For really?” he gasped and then wriggled out of his parents’ hold, apparently to go tell Teddy and Vilkas the very important job he had to do later.

 

Their baby girl had almost come full circle and was now in Draco’s arms. She blinked in confusion as Astrid tried to use Draco’s trousers as purchase to poke at her in confusion. She hadn’t had much familiarity with other babies, after all. It was amusing to watch.

 

Fenrir leant in to Harry’s ear. “What about Caelia?” he suggested, voice warm, rough and like a balm to Harry’s frayed senses. It’d been a long day already, very testing on his fragile control but so rewarding at the same time. He tore his eyes away from the baby to look at Fenrir.

 

“ _Kay_ -lee-ah?” he pronounced, considering. Fenrir’s hand gripped his hip now.

 

“Heavenly.”

 

Harry smiled. “How do you know all these name meanings?”

 

“I research them in Eithne’s books. Naming is a very respected part of our traditions,” Fenrir said, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “If you don’t like it maybe-”

 

“No,” Harry said, looking back to her again just as Draco pulled Astrid up with his free arm so the babies could meet properly. “Caelia,” Harry said again. “It’s pretty without being too flowery or fluffy.” He wouldn’t feel like an idiot for calling her it, she was the daughter of two men after all. “It goes nicely with Kirian too.”

 

Fenrir seemed only just able to contain his joy, struggling to keep his face impassive. “I’ll have to think of more names beginning with ‘ _kuh_ ’ for the next one then so they all match,” he mused. Harry elbowed him hard but didn’t argue and took his newly named daughter into his arms again after a few moments more. This was good. He hadn’t flipped out once (only nearly). He thought that was a great achievement. He couldn’t wait to invite Ron and Hermione over and maybe in a few weeks venture out to The Burrow to introduce Caelia to the her red-headed extended family.

 

“Everyone, this is Caelia,” he said and when everyone cried their approval, the said little girl’s face twisted and she bawled loudly. More than enough excitement for one day, Harry thought, knowing this was a human feeling as well as a wolf instinct to keep his little one safe and hidden. He looked for Kirian and pushed to his feet. “Come on then, Kiri, want to help us give her a bath?”

 

 

Harry, Fenrir and the children left the circle, along with Eithne, Teddy, Remus and Tonks who would use the floo home. Larentia blinked as long, potion-stained fingers brushed against hers on the bench. She glanced down at their touching hands and then let her gaze travel the length of Severus’ arm until she was fixed with dark eyes.

 

“I am very lucky to be able to care for so many beautiful children,” she said softly and Snape’s eyes crinkled gently.

 

“You know; I am certain that no one thought it was possible for another werewolf to be born again until Potter came along. You must never close the door on certain possibilities entirely.” He glanced around the circle and squeezed her fingers tightly, this small act of affection so much from this old-fashioned gentleman. “It has been told I am the greatest Potions Master who has ever lived,” he added with a raised brow.

 

Larentia smiled. “Perhaps. If anyone could do it, it would be you. You, Harry and Draco made a good team last time.”

 

Snape looked uncomfortable all of a sudden, a dark cloud crossing his features as he rose from the circle slowly. His cloak whipped behind him as he headed for the caves, one of the watcher wolves trotting at his side ready to guide him back through. But as he reached the gates, Larentia grabbed his arm and whirled him to face her. She was tall but still a good few inches shorter than him and she glared up at him, fixing him to the spot, waiting for him to explain his sudden change in mood.

 

Severus scowled, gently extracting his arm from her. “You should know, that even if we were not…consorting, I would be happy to try to find a potion to gift you with the same ability as Potter. If it were within my power.”

 

Larentia stared. “I’m not with you because of that,” she said roughly. “I haven’t been visiting you and… _consorting_ with you because I want something from you. If it is impossible, if I am never permitted anything more than this, this is already more than enough.” She glanced back at the pack gathered all the way across the Valley still and walked into the tunnels, the soft light illuminating the man’s harsh features. Some wouldn’t consider him handsome, but to her, no one had looked better. She cupped his jaw and stared into his eyes. “A life with you is more than I ever dared to hope for. That is enough, Severus Snape and anything else we find along the way is only fodder for the fire.”

 

“Fire?” he repeated, voice still the same drawl but a little rough around the edges now. Her slightly lined face twisted into a smile and she leant in.

 

“You’re the one that usually speaks in metaphors,” she whispered against his lips. “ _This_ fire,” she added and brought their lips together gently. Not for the first nor last time. Whatever happened next, it would be better than either of them had ever dared to hope for.

 

 

Across the circle, Draco watched the exchange and then looked up to see his mate watching him with warm, affectionate eyes. “You’re wondering what brought them together, no doubt,” Echo said, reading his mind.

 

Draco shifted uncomfortably. “You make it sound like I wonder how either of them could find someone. I think they’ve both landed themselves quite the catch, I just wonder what they have in common. How they can make sense together”

 

Reaching forward and drawing a fussing Astrid into his lap, Echo smiled wistfully and stroked callous fingers through the baby fine hair. “I think they’re more alike than you know. They have both dealt with a great deal of suffering and hardship in their lives. They are both world wary. There are more reasons than you realise for them to be drawn to each other.”

 

“But Harry can’t make it…safe for them like he has for you and me,” he said, despairing at how young and lost he sounded. He trusted Larentia and he cared for Snape like a father but accidents happened. Teddy’s recent ‘awakening’ was a fine example of that.

 

“Many werewolves found a way before Harry,” Echo said softly. “Severus is an intelligent man; I am sure he has weighed up the risks.” When Draco said nothing Echo wrapped a free arm round his shoulders and met his eyes. “They’ll do just fine, Draco. Their happiness has been a long time coming.”

 

“I know,” Draco said. “I’m happy for them. Of course I am. I’m simply…concerned.”

 

Echo smirked, brushing his nose against Draco’s temple. “That’s because, beneath your brusque, aloof demeanor, you are quite tender-hearted.” He drew back a little when Draco elbowed him in the ribs.

 

*                       *                       *

 

“Don’t fidget,” Harry complained, “I’m having a hard enough time remembering as it is…” He stared at his task for a moment, suspended in deep concentration before pulling the loop of the dark grey tie down. “There,” he said, tightening it up to the collar of Fenrir’s shirt. “I haven’t tied one since I was sixteen but you’re looking pretty smart to me.” He stood back, surveying his usually wild mate looking tidy and composed in a white dress shirt, dark grey dress robes and matching tie. Fenrir’s uncomfortable, frustrated expression as he tugged at his collar belied the look a fraction.

 

“If Kirian can put up with it I’m sure you can,” Harry mused, even as he tugged at his own shirt. His was almost exactly the same as Fenrir’s, except the robes were a dark, almost black green. “I know it’s a pain, but I appreciate it.” He didn’t really relish the night ahead either, but he knew it had to be done and he was touched that Fenrir had agreed to it, even though he knew how hard it must be for him. Harry smoothed his fingers down Fenrir’s robes and smiled softly. “it’s good for them to see us traversing the gap between the human and werewolf parts of us.”

 

Fenrir said nothing but sat back on the edge of the bed, scooping up Caelia, who’d been immaculately clothed in a frilly lilac dress (by a fashion-lecturing Draco) and setting her in his lap. She blinked up at him, tiny, sleepy and displeased. Harry watched them for a moment as he finished off his own tie and glanced around to see Kirian doing his colouring in in the far corner, hair and clothes still perfectly in place.

 

They didn’t attend fundraising balls or galas or the like very often, in fact it was very rare but as this was in aid of Hermione and Remus’ department, the Department of Magical Beings and Creatures, they were making the effort. That and as he’d said, the world would be a much better place if they advertised unity and tolerance rather than segregating themselves – even if their instincts begged otherwise.

 

With a sigh, Harry gestured Kirian toward him and pulled him up onto his hip. He was getting heavier but he still had a while before Harry couldn’t lift him anymore. “Let’s go then,” he said, amused that Fenrir seemed the most reluctant and petulant. “I’ll go first with Kiri,” he said, stepping toward his mate as the man stood. He looked up at him, smiling slightly. “See you in a second, Mr Greyback,” he teased, using the name the press wielded with respectful fear. Fenrir’s derisive snort sounded in his ears as he made his way to the floo.

 

Stepping out into the grand foyer of Minister Shacklebolt’s stately home, Harry cast a wandless charm to banish the soot from him and Kirian before setting the little boy down. He watched as Kirian spun in a circle, gazing up at the chanedliers above. “Pretty,” Kirian almost cooed, eyes wide.

 

“it is,” Harry agreed. It didn’t feel as cold or forbidden as Malfoy Manor although it was no less luxurious.

 

“Not as nice as our house though,” Kirian said as he turned, peering up at the portraits that were bowing and curtseying to him politely. Before Harry could respond, the floo flared behind him and Fenrir and a wailing Caelia entered the foyer. Aware that other guests were arriving through the other two fireplaces, Harry moved over to the far side, Fenrir’s large body shielding him from view as he passed Caelia over.

 

“She feels the same as me about the floo,” Harry noted, retrieving her dummy from his pocket and popping it in her mouth. She sniffled feebly, nuzzling at his chest. He flushed, glancing around. “Errr, you reckon you can head on in without me? I’ll just…find a loo to calm her down in.”

 

Fenrir visibly tensed at the idea of stepping into a ballroom full of wizards but gave a small nod, brushing the side of Harry’s throat with his fingers before grasping Kirian’s hand. “Don’t take too long, some wizened old witch may sweep me off my feet.”

 

Harry laughed, ignoring the newly arriving guests and the way they stared as he and Fenrir headed out of the hall and into two different directions. The toilets were easy enough to find, pointed out by one of the waitresses who’d stopped to stare at him as he passed. It was something he’d gotten used to over the years.

 

“Hey now,” he said softly as he sat awkwardly in on the edge of the sink, unbuttoning his shirt and pulling Caelia in close. He pulled the dummy out of her wailing mouth and waited, stiffening at the initial soreness of her latching on and then leaning back against the mirror. He felt the moment they both relaxed into the feeling, the comfort of the instinctive act. “You really are stunning,” Harry said, staring down into intense blue eyes as she fed. He stroked a pudgy cheek with his finger. “You’ve changed everything so much since you came along, for the better.”

 

She gurgled, milk spilling down her chin and Harry smirked, pulling the blanket Eithne had gifted to her out of his inner robe pocket and drying her chin and himself. “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he admonished.

 

There was a knock on the door. “Anyone in there?”

 

Harry shifted his daughter closer and watched her detach of her own volition. Sometimes it was a comfort thing rather than a food thing – for him and her both. “Yes,” he called to the person beyond the door. “One second.” With his daughter now calmed, he popped the dummy back in her mouth and struggled to readjust his clothing with only one hand. Giving himself one last glance in the mirror, he shifted her higher in the crook of his arm and unlocked the door.

 

“Sorry,” he said politely to the man standing on the other side, who stepped back, apparently surprised to see the part werewolf savior of the wizarding world standing there with a baby. He smiled awkwardly at him and stepped around him, heading for the noise of the ballroom and the smell of Fenrir before the man could say anything.

 

The ballroom was phenomenal, an expanse of light and music and warmth, alive with laughter and easiness. Kingsley and his wife met him at the door, greeting those in front of Harry in the queue to get in before spying him. Kingsley beamed, clapping Harry on the shoulder, welcoming him like an old friend and showing his awe at Caelia’s bright rosy face before letting him walk forward into the throng of people.

 

The centre of the room was dominated by a large dancefloor where some people were already dancing. The far wall carried a long table of refreshments and food and the opposite seemed to be a wall made entirely of French windows opening up onto the garden, where some people had spilled out into the night. Sniffing softly, Harry shifted Caelia on his shoulder, her big eyes staring around at the new sights and sounds as he moved toward Fenrir and Kirian’s scent.

 

A hand touched his shoulder and he turned to see Marrok, standing head and shoulders above him with his muscly, broad body wrapped in fine wizarding robes of midnight blue. His dazzling white smile lit up the room and Caelia fidgeted, always pleased to see him.

 

“Don’t you look beautiful tonight, Princess,” Marrok said seriously, taking the little girl’s tiny hand and squeezing briefly before letting go, fixing dark, shining eyes on Harry. Harry had known he and Larentia had gone ahead to mingle with the wizarding community. Around Marrok, Harry could see Larentia standing with Snape, smiling brilliantly as they spoke as easy as breathing. He smiled himself and focused back on Marrok.

 

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” he said, looking around the room. “It’s not so awful in here. The best moods are always at the gatherings Kingsley holds. He doesn’t have time for brown-nosing crooks and the press always behave themselves.” As if on cue there was a flash not too far away of a camera and Harry wondered if Fenrir and Kirian were the focus for the snapshot.

 

“it’s a blast,” Marrok said brightly, “I’ve been showing everyone how we dance back at the den.”

 

“Everyone?” Harry asked, brow raised but as he asked the question, a familiar face emerged from the crowds.

 

“Oi, where’d you vanish to, I was just getting the hang of it,” Charlie Weasley protested, seeming to take a minute to notice Harry. “Alright there, mate?” he asked, beaming when he saw Caelia, brushing a knuckle against her cheek. “And you, of course, Gorgeous.” He elbowed Marrok’s broad, eloquently clothed forearm. “Your omega here was showing me how to dance the wolf way. It’s a bit different to dancing with dragons, I’ll tell you.”

 

Harry laughed. “You’ll have to swing by one of our full moon after parties.” He was quite sure he didn’t miss the way Marrok’s eyes practically glowed with excitement as Charlie gripped his wrist.

 

“That’d be brilliant. We’ll make a date,” Charlie agreed, casually steering Marrok back toward the dancefloor. “See you in a bit Harry.” And with that, they vanished back together among the crowd. Harry scarcely had time to try to locate his mate and son, however, before he was accosted by another couple with red hair. Ginny and Ron were as smartly attired as the rest, Ginny flushed from dancing and Ron holding a glass of some fruity smelling alcoholic beverage.

 

“Did you see your big guy dancing with my brother?” Ron asked, a little pink-faced. “I knew Charlie was gay but…well I wasn’t expecting it is all.” He sipped his drink. “Nothing wrong with it, just saying.”

 

“They look amazing together,” Ginny said, swatting her brother’s arm. “You’re just embarrassed because you can’t dance as well as either of them can.” She kissed Harry’s cheek and reached out for Caelia. It was easier now, a few weeks in. Easier than it had been at this sort of time with Kirian at any rate. There was still the prickle of reluctance at handing his cub over, but the sight of his family’s adoring eyes on her whenever he managed it was always worth it. Ginny was a natural, holding her close and babbling at the tiny girl, who seemed to be trying to smile up at her around her dummy.

 

“Should’ve guessed really. They always seem to get along great at the birthdays and things we share,” Harry said, seeing Charlie wrap his arms round Marrok’s neck and laugh into his shoulder as they danced to a rhythm all of their own. It filled Harry with warmth to see. “They look like they make sense together. It’s nice.” Beside him, Ron nodded into his cup. It wasn’t a gay thing or a werewolf thing, Harry knew, Ron was uncomfortable enough around his own emotions, much less someone else’s. This discomfort around love and romance was just Ron. Harry thumped him on the shoulder lightly. “Where’s ‘Mione?” he asked.

 

Ron glugged down the rest of his drink and set it on the tray of a passing waiter, grabbing another simultaneously. “Dancing with your little man,” he said, pulling Harry to the side so he could look down Ron’s pointing finger through the masses, to where Kirian was being twirled and then twirling a flushed, beaming Hermione in turn. It was glorious. These gatherings were filled with the wizarding press and strangers who often stared and whispered, but in the middle of all that there was always his family and somehow they found bliss amid the unpleasantness. They always did. They always would.

 

Harry had found his place now, wherever he went, whatever social awkwardness he felt, he was at peace. Safe. Loved. Home.

 

“Is this a lingering pregnancy hormone thing?” Ron asked, dragging Harry from his reverie.

 

Harry blinked. “Hmm?”

 

“The sparkly eyed dazed thing you’re doing,” Ron mused, lips quirked up at the side.

 

“Piss off,” Harry muttered without bite.

 

“There was a time when fundraising galas like this would’ve sent you running for the hills,” Ginny said.

 

Harry shrugged. “I’ve grown up a bit I’d like to think,” he said with a smirk, glancing at Hermione and Kirian again. He couldn’t see them yet either but he knew Remus and Tonks were here as well as the other Weasleys, Luna and Neville. Draco had opted out of this one but so many of the people he considered family were here. It was hard to be afraid of the world when you were so full of love for some of the people around you.

 

“I’m going to find Fenrir,” he said, “watch the kids for me?” His friends nodded and Harry followed his nose out of one of the sets of french doors into the immaculate, softly lit gardens. The shrubberies and rose bushes were neatly pruned, the crescent moonlight blending subtly with the magical lanterns. In the centre of the courtyard garden a large fountain with unicorns sent arching sprays of water into the pool below and there Harry found Fenrir, sprawled on one of the benches before it, shirt open, tie hanging crooked and robes mussed.

 

Harry smiled as he approached him.

 

“Should’ve known you’d be out here,” Harry said lightly. He heard Fenrir huff and stood in front of the fountain, putting Fenrir behind him as he stared at the minute glowing fairies that chased each other across the water, as delicate and erratic as leaves on a breeze. “I think the press got a picture of us arriving, that should be good enough. Kirian’s enjoying the dancing though.”

 

“He belongs in this world,” Fenrir said simply, “belongs in both. It’s easy for him to flicker between the two..”

 

“I appreciate you making the effort, I know it’s difficult,” Harry said, but as he spoke, he felt warm arms around him, a hard chest at his back and a sniffing nose at the side of his head.

 

“It isn’t as hard as it once was,” Fenrir murmured softly.

 

Harry reached up to run his fingers down Fenrir’s jaw. He closed his eyes. “Want to dance?” he asked.

 

Fenrir’s lips twitched. “I usually have to drag you up to dance at the fire,” he mused.

 

Harry turned in his arms to face him, already feeling large hands settle on his hips. “Do you not want to then?” Harry asked, trying for dismissiveness. The hands on his hips tightened and he smirked as Fenrir turned them both, rough and fast and easy to the music. He couldn’t say it was like any formal dance Harry had ever seen and he enjoyed it all the more for it. He didn’t have to worry about stumbling or elegance or making an idiot of himself. His toes barely touched the floor and the light in Fenrir’s eyes was infectious. Harry grinned.

 

“If someone had told me when I was younger that I’d fall for a werewolf and bring the world of wolves and humans together, I think I’d have thought they were mad,” Harry said, letting Fenrir spin them around the fountain as if they were gliding on air. As if the world were made for them to dance through. A few of the guests were on the patio and watching them not so subtly, but he couldn’t find the time to care. Not when those blue eyes pierced him that way, glowing almost other-worldly in the moonlight.

 

Fenrir just smirked, having few words as always as he swung Harry effortlessly over the water and up onto the ledge of the fountain so Harry stood a little taller than him. Their eyes met and no words were needed. Harry felt freer, stronger than he could ever remember, unconcerned about the eyes on him from behind and the expectations. From the feel of it, Fenrir felt the same. A bristly smile was offered up to him and Harry brushed a thumb over his chin.

 

“I’ll have to make the effort to come to more of these if you look at me like that,” Fenrir said in his usual gruff voice. Harry laughed and, feeling reckless and giddy in that moment, stepped back, falling into the fountain with a loud splash, dragging Fenrir with him. They surfaced together to a small crowd of stunned onlookers, both of them gasping for breath and choking on laughter.

 

*                       *                       *

 

Harry gripped Kirian’s hand as they walked through King’s Cross, his other arm adding further support to the snoozing little girl in the carrier strapped to his chest. Her head lolled against him and he smirked down at her as he stepped to the side to let a man with his trolley step past them. As he did so, however, he noticed that it seemed quite a bit heavier than he’d anticipated, for he nearly toppled down the stairs with it, only just saving himself at the last minute.

 

“I’ll help,” Kirian said brightly, zipping forward and grasping the case handle.

 

“Oh, no no young man, thank you but it’s quite heavy and-” The man, around sixty-ish cut off as Kirian lifted the average sized yet heavy trolley easily and zipped down the steps. The man stared down after him, then to Harry, eyes round with astonishment.

 

“He’s a strong little man,” Harry said, trying for nonchalance. He could just about see Kirian had reached the bottom of the steps and was waiting with a pleased grin. The man tipped his head in thanks to Harry before heading down after him. Once he was reunited with his case, Kirian was bounding back up the stairs and sliding his hand into Harry’s.

 

“Perhaps you should limit your displays of great strength in front of the muggles,” Amoux said with a smile from where she stood at Harry’s side, Teddy and a nervous looking Vilkas between them, fingers white-knuckled around the handle of his metal trolley. It was piled with a Hogwarts’ trunk and an extra rucksack. He looked quite pale but excited at the same time. Harry squeezed his shoulder.

 

“Come on, let’s get you on the train,” he said gently and steered them toward the wall between platforms nine and ten,feeling nostalgic of the drama of his first time on this platform and the panic that had seized him. It was much easier now for their small group to lean casually against the wall and stagger out into Platform Nine and Three Quarters. The scarlet engine was vibrant and beautiful as ever and Harry smiled, squeezing Kirian’s hand as they moved toward it.

 

“You’ve got your money for the food trolley?” Amoux was asking as Harry, Teddy and Kirian pushed the trolley to the conductor, who was loading them onto the back of the train. He turned to see Amoux stroking her son’s cheeks with a mixture of emotions on her lined face. “Remember you can use the school owls to send me a letter when you get there.”

 

“I know,” Vilkas said, blinking at her. He looked a bit less sick now, only determined, fidgety, eager. Harry smiled, knowing exactly what he was feeling. He hung back, not wanting to intrude on the moment between mother and son. Vilkas eventually hugged his mother and she stepped back, letting him say his boyish, awkward goodbyes to Kirian and Teddy. When the whistle sounded, signalling for them to finish boarding, Harry moved with Vilkas toward the door of the train.

 

“I know it’s a bit scary,” Harry said hesitantly, “but you’ll love Hogwarts. So many things to explore, things to learn, new people. You love new things, right?” Vilkas had always been the most inquisitive of the pack and that had only grown with the rest of him, He’d come so far from the curious little cub who’d patted his swollen stomach and proclaimed he would be the next alpha around five years ago now.

 

Vilkas looked up at him. “I want to go,” he said, “I do I’m just… What if people treat me differently because I’m…?” He gestured to himself obviously and Harry knew what he meant. McGonagall had made arrangements for him to return to the pack on the night of the full moon each month and besides which, everyone watching Vilkas now standing with Harry would know what he was.

 

“Fyerhyde is a good woman, soon to be part werewolf like me, Draco and Teddy.Go to her if you have any trouble but Vilkas,” Harry began with conviction, kneeling to stare into his eyes. He squeezed his shoulder again, hoping the message would sink in. “It isn’t like that anymore. I promise you. Kids can be cruel but…no one is going to treat you any differently because you’re a wolf.” At that moment he looked up to see a few children staring at them and smirked. “If anything, I think the general belief is that werewolves are cool now, thanks to their part in the final battle.”

 

Apparently cheered by this, Vilkas beamed and, blushing only a little, leaned forward to wrap his arms round Harry’s shoulders. He released him quickly and hopped up onto the train.

 

“I’ll send you a letter as soon as I get there!” Vilkas called to Kirian and Teddy, smiling from ear to ear as he vanished from sight. He reappeared a little later in one of the compartment windows and after a moment, the train started to move with great billows of crisp white steam. To Harry, they were more magical than any sparks from a wand. Breathing it all in, he joined Kirian, Teddy and Amoux to wave Vilkas off, until the train rounded the corner and was gone, carrying Vilkas off to his own great adventure.

 

As they made their way back through the platform and out of King’s Cross, Harry smiled consolingly at a teary Amoux. “He’ll do brilliant there, you’ll see,” he assured her.

 

Amoux nodded, smiling through her tears. “Oh, I know. I’m not worried. I’m simply… He’s grown up so quickly, that’s all.” She glanced down to Kirian. “When you have to wave him off on the train you’ll see. It’s not a sad moment, yet it is at the same time.”

 

Kirian tipped his head back to look up at Harry. “I get to go to Hogwarts?” he asked, sounding both eager and surprised.

 

Harry squeezed his hand. “If you like. You can do whatever you want. You’re a wizard as well as a wolf.”

 

Kirian looked thoughtful as they waited at the zebra crossing, little brow furrowed in the same way Fenrir’s did when he was struggling for the right words. “I want to go,” he said eventually. “But I want to be home too.”

 

“You’ve got a good few years to decide, Kiri,” Harry promised as they crossed, “You and Teddy both. Why don’t we go watch a film at the cinema and get something to eat?” Two pairs of eyes widened eagerly and Amoux laughed softly.

 

“I’ll leave you to it, I think. I’ll see you back at the den.” She punctuated her words with a little wave and headed off to the nearest discreet place to apparate. By the time she vanished round the corner of the busy street, Kirian and Teddy were practically bouncing with excitement.

 

“Can I have a Happy Meal?” Kirian squeaked.

 

“And watch the penguin movie?” Teddy added quickly.

 

The cinema and McDonalds were just a couple of the many childhood delights he’d been denied that he tried to share with Kirian as often as possible. Against his chest, Caelia’s little head nuzzled deeper in sleep. Harry smirked at the sight and feel of her. She was such a calm, contented little thing, so unlike the whiny, fussy little baby Kirian had been. Stroking her head softly, Harry led Kirian and Teddy toward the McDonalds he knew was just down the street.

 

“Happy Meals and penguins it is,” he said brightly, wondering if the next time they’d be able to convince Fenrir to come with them. He thought if Kirian asked with those big excited eyes, he wouldn’t be able to say no. That and Fenrir knew how important doing ‘normal’ family things was to Harry. All in all, he thought he’d inadvertently managed to find himself quite a considerate partner – in spite of _both_ of their little quirks. His smile broadened.

 

*                       *                       *

 

“You’re sure about this?” Fenrir asked, their eyes locking in the mirror Harry had been staring into, the better to see as he healed the love bite Fenrir had left over his skin mere moments before. His skin was still flushed from sex but he was getting used to the pack being able to tell what they’d been up to by now. He smiled at Fenrir in the mirror as the last of the claiming bruise vanished.

 

“I don’t want you to feel…rushed. I know Kirian can change now but he’s still only just five and you haven’t left Caelia with someone else before either,” Fenrir continued, stepping close to press his naked chest to Harry’s back, wrapping his arms round him. Harry let his hands rest on Fenrir’s forearms where they crossed over him and closed his eyes, leaning back, relaxed and more certain of this than he had been of anything else in his life.

 

“Kirian’s all excited about this now,” he said after a few moments of just breathing in this man, drinking in the affection he felt emanating from the subtle bond between them. “I want him to have this. It’s a tradition of your family. It can’t all be about my wizarding traditions or the whole point of balance falls to pieces. I’m fine, really. This is a good thing.”When he opened his eyes he saw that the look of concern still hadn’t faded entirely from that face.

 

“And Caelia?” Fenrir prodded.

 

Harry tried to hide a grimace. “It’ll be hard, but it won’t be for too long or too far.” He turned in Fenrir’s arms to meet his eyes properly, to run his fingers against his stubbly chin. “Who’s the neurotic worrywart here, you or me?” he teased and that at last earned him a grin.

 

Fenrir dipped his head to kiss him briefly, before stepping away. A quick cleaning charm was his only preliminary before vanishing round the corner into the new extension of the den that was Caelia’s room. If Harry stayed very quiet, he could hear Fenrir talking in his usual gruff, husky voice to the baby girl, who babbled animatedly back. Yes, tonight would be a good night, a tradition as important to the pack as Christmas and Hogwarts and all the rest was to Harry. And if he thought about it, this was important to him, Harry too. He pulled on his loose trousers and shirt and looked up just in time to see Fenrir walk back into the room, Caelia on his hip.

 

“You two look good together,” Harry said as he considered them, Fenrir’s large hand supporting her still wobbly head as she tried to turn toward Harry’s voice. She kicked her pudgy pink feet against Fenrir’s belly and smiled gummily.

 

“Mmm,” Fenrir said, trying hard not to look pleased. “She’s a beautiful little thing. She must take after you,” he said winningly, leading the way out into the valley where the rest of the pack had gathered.

 

The little man of the hour himself was hanging upside down from one of the trees, squealing with delight along with the other children as they galloped about, loud and voracious in their excitement. Ghost, Harry noted, was in amongst them, snapping playfully at their heels. When they noticed them, however, they and the adults drew in close to Fenrir and Harry, silenr as they gathered round in a large circle but practically buzzing with eagerness for the night ahead. The crescent moon was high above in the sky and the stars shone along with it, bright and warm.

 

“Kids, make sure you stay close in the centre. This is a treat I don’t want you to spoil by being reckless. Don’t stray, I mean it,” Fenrir said firmly, looking at Accalia’s rambunctious twins in particular. They had the good grace to blush. “Harry and I will go first with Kirian, Echo and Draco and the rest of you follow with the signal, alright?” There was no audible reply, but it didn’t need one. As a unified pack they understood as one.

 

Harry couldn’t help but smile as Kirian bounced from foot to foot beside him, tugging at Harry’s sleeve. “Can we go now? Can we?” Harry glanced around. Marrok seemed to have slipped away as planned. Good.

 

“Alright,” Harry said, taking the scrap of cloth Fenrir had been holding onto and passing it to Kirian. “Take a good whiff of what you’re hunting and we can begin.”

 

Kirian took the dark red cloth carefully, sniffing deeply. His brow furrowed, apparently recognising the scent but unable to place it. For the moment anyway. This would be the traditional ‘First Hunt’, a right of passage for all wolf children that happened usually after their first transformation. Kirian was bursting with eagerness to prove himself, to be a big boy and act the way his Alpha did and Harry was glad of it. This was just so right, all of it. He and Fenrir and their little family enjoyed the best aspects of wizarding life, but they enjoyed being what they were as well. Being wolves. Together.

 

When Kirian had gotten the scent, he followed tradition and passed the scent over to the rest of the pack, who would follow shortly. For the moment, Fenrir passed Caelia to Harry and gripped Kirian’s shoulder, leading them and Echo and Draco (Astrid in arm) toward the entrance of the Valley.

 

The fresh, soothing greeting of the forest met them and as soon as they stepped into the trees, Kirian seemed to want to bolt toward the scent. Fenrir chuckled, turning his little bludger to face him and leaning down to his level. He drew off Kirian’s shirt and trousers and met his eyes. “Do you think you can shift with me? We can do this as humans if you want.” Not all of the pack had harnessed the ability to change at will without the full moon, after all and some would be running as humans.

 

Kirian concentrated, hard, squeezed his eyes shut. He’d managed to do it a few times accidentally since that first moon but he seemed determined now. Harry wondered if he’d been practicing with Fenrir or with Echo, wanting to impress them. “I want…want to be a wolf,” Kirian insisted, but his eyes were still clenched shut and his body drawn up in tension, betraying his struggle.

 

Harry knelt down beside Fenrir, supporting Caelia carefully but looking now at his son. Gently, he reached out with his free hand and touched Kirian’s cheek. Those big green eyes flashed open and met with his. There was a warmth there, an understanding bond that had been there since birth and only continued to grow since. Harry ached with love for him so profound he couldn’t put into words.

 

His little bludger, who’d come along at the worst time in his life and turned everything around. He’d saved him in so many ways and still continued to now. “Love you, Kiri,” he said warmly, unashamed. “C’mon. Show me.” He let his thumb brush against that cheek and then his hand slid away. Kirian blinked at him. For long moments nothing happened but at least the tension didn’t return to his body. Then, his little limbs shuddered and twisted and the small, almost white wolf stumbled to its feet before them.

 

“There’s my boy,” Fenrir said proudly, huskily, stepping back and regarding the cub with the excitedly wagging tail. “C’mon then, lead the way.” And with that, he and Echo morphed into their wolf counterparts, while Harry stepped toward Draco, looking down at the baby girl in his arms. He swallowed. It felt so similar to that morning all those years ago. The significance wasn’t lost on Draco it seemed for he shifted Astrid to his hip and reached for Caelia without hesitation, slow but sure.

 

“This is your forest, Harry,” he said, pointing his chin at the trees ahead. “This is all yours. The Dark Lord is gone. Don’t let him ruin this for you, for your children.”

 

Harry swallowed hard. Nodded. He hadn’t let it stop him this far. He wouldn’t again. “Be a good girl for Draco,” Harry said to his daughter, who just blinked up at him, confused as she was passed into Draco’s arm.

 

“I’ll just be over here, Potter,” Draco said, before heading off in the agreed direction.

 

Harry’s heart tightened but he could do it. It was alright, he’d see her in a moment. Once he was devoid of clothing, he let the change take his own body until Fenrir butted his muzzle against his own black one. It felt good to be on four legs again, to feel Fenrir’s fur against his own. All these months without his wolf had been like having an itch he couldn’t scratch. He nipped playfully at Fenrir’s neck then turned his attention to his cub, who was winding eagerly between his legs, before taking a deep sniff and bolting ahead into the trees after the scent trail their ‘prey’ had left.

 

As they shot after him, Fenrir let out a calling howl, one that pierced the sky and in the distance, Harry heard their packs’ answer. They were coming. The grass was firm and warm underfoot. The evening creatures of the forest scurried out of their path and the birds kept quiet in their trees, only a few bats squeaking about overhead. Harry gave a huff of laughter as their little ‘hunter’ bludger got distracted by trying to chase them instead of the scent, jumping up and trying to nip them out of the air and missing spectacularly.

 

The distraction gave their pack time to catch up. They bounded alongside them, howling and yipping in delight. The sounds of their pack meeting them seemed to be the mental tap Kirian needed, for he was back on the trail again leading them all through the trees, leaping boldly over tree roots and only stumbling a little in the stream. The chase was on and it was glorious.

 

If anyone could see them all charging after Kirian’s lead, wolves at one with themselves, with each other, with the world around them, the moon glancing off their glossy fur, it would’ve stopped any surveyor in place. Kirian howled as the scent spiked thicker and stronger then, the sound carrying on the breeze over Harry’s black furred ears. The pack split, three groups veering off to encircle the scent they were so close to now, ready to ambush.

 

They reached a small clearing and Kirian leapt with a playful snarl, flying into Marrok, who’d been ‘hiding’ behind a fallen tree, both of them tumbling across the grass. The pack barreled in from different sides, some howling to show their victory, some just leaping into the tussle on the ground with vigor. Harry for his part, stood back and watched Kirian panting, wagging his tail in triumph and leaping up to nip at Marrok’s ear. Their ‘prey’ for his first hunt was caught. If Harry had possessed the ability in this body, he would’ve been grinning ear to ear.

 

Suddenly, Fenrir’s long tongue flicked against his muzzle and Harry turned to see him leaping to the side, head down, backside raised with a swinging tail, ears pricked and tongue out, ready to play. Harry stared for a moment, surprised by the carefree candor. Only for a moment, however before he jumped forward with a playful grumble, slamming into his mate and sending them both rolling across the ground.

 

They bowled into a nearby bush, Harry on top, paws pinning his mate to the ground. Fenrir growled, licking his throat playfully and squirming beneath until he could flip Harry over onto the floor. Harry squeaked, scrambling to get to his feet but Fenrir’s weight was over him, pressing down against his back so he was forced to remain on his belly. A softly nuzzling nose pressed into his neck, his head, snuffling at his ears and Harry tilted his head to the side to nip impishly at him. It wasn’t often that Fenrir was relaxed enough to play – not with anyone other than Kirian, anyway.

 

A low grumbling sound vibrated against Harry’s ears, which flicked at the attention. He growled back, rolling under Fenrir with difficulty until he was on his back and he could stretch his neck up to worry the flesh of his throat. From beyond the bush, a soft enquiring yip was heard and the two of them paused before slowly disentangling, crawling out from the greenery to see Kirian whirling around, chasing Ghost in circles. They both bounded over to Fenrir, chasing each other round him in until Fenrir jumped over the pair of them, leaving Harry to watch as the chase began anew, this time with Fenrir as the subject. It was a warming sight, the pack cubs playing as nature intended, the adults as well – human and wolf shaped. He watched them for some time, contentment spreading through him before he made his way to the pale figure that’d finally made its way into the clearing, Caelia and Astrid on either arm.

 

Draco was wearing a warm cloak and he took a seat near the centre of the events, back against a slender tree, settling Caelia more securely in his lap and letting Astrid crawl into the fray with an easy smile. She was making a beeline for the tawny coloured wolf currently tussling with Marrok and she screeched with delight when Echo noticed her, bending his head to let her grip his ears and pull herself up to unsteady feet. She couldn’t walk yet but she gave it a good try, bounding on chubby legs as she pulled on her father’s ears.

 

Harry plonked down beside Draco, parting his front paws and burrowing slightly until the earth was soft and had a small dip. He glanced at Draco, who understood and carefully lay a sleeping Caelia in the dip between his paws, wrapped in her blankets. She turned and nestled into the fur at his chest and Harry nosed at her pink cheeks lovingly. She felt even smaller when he wore this form, more fragile and precious, if that were possible.

 

The look Harry gave Draco as he raised his head was self-explanatory too. His beta cocked his head and looked to where Echo had flipped Astrid so she was now riding his furry shoulders. Draco couldn’t transform yet, he hadn’t quite mastered that art but it was only a matter of time. Draco gave him a small nod and made his way toward his family, greeted with a long hard lick across the face from an overexcited Echo. Harry gave a huff of amusement and settled down to watch it all, take it all in like fine wine. This was his family, his home. He’d never felt more sure of himself or them in all his life.

 

He could tell he wasn’t the only one that felt that way. Each and every person in that clearing was radiating the kind of bliss that only came from true freedom. Even Remus was sprawled on his side, letting Teddy brush his fur with keen intrigue, as if he were a favoured pet. Teddy too, had most likely never seen Remus so calm in this form, nor so willing to be touched. It was good to see.

 

After the moon had travelled across the sky some ways and the cubs were finally beginning to tire and curl up beside their parents, a widely yawning Kirian tottered over, Ghost at his side. Harry lifted his chin so Kirian could lick at him in greeting and curl up between his paws next to his sister, both of them warm and safe against Harry’s chest. Ghost lay along his side and Fenrir, when he’d seen that the rest of his pack were safe, calm and all accounted for, lay down along Harry’s opposite side, nosing tenderly at his ears until Harry leant into him, closing his eyes.

 

After a while, when the sounds of sleep were all that permeated the clearing, Harry donned his human body again so that he could speak.“I got a letter from Ollivander,” he said quietly, his voice was sleepy, warm and content. Fenrir’s fur and a quick warming spell were all that was needed to keep their small group warm in the night that had become especially chilly for the season. “You know, my marks were pretty good, weren't they?" Even Snape had been not so secretly impressed. "He accepted my request to study wandlore under him.”

 

A soft canine huff against his dark hair was his only reply. Harry smiled, “Apparently my magical ability and skill makes me an ideal student – he hasn’t taken an apprentice for decades. He’s fine with me waiting a few years until Caelia is older too.” He rolled onto his back, leaving the children and Ghost snuggled in the small burrow in the warm dry ground. He stared up into ice blue eyes that seemed to glow in the night.

 

There was another small sigh and then Fenrir’s human body was hovering over his, rough fingers sliding up Harry’s chest to cup his throat in that way that he did. His version of tenderness. “He would’ve been mad not to accept you,” Fenrir said gruffly, quietly. “Don’t look so surprised either. I do realise you need something outside the pack to keep you content. It was you that said it first, wasn’t it?” His thumbnail scraped gently against Harry’s slightly stubbly jaw. “You’re part wizard too. You need things from that world as well as this one. You want a career and a life out there just as much as you want your life at home here. I can understand that.”

 

Harry’s lips quirked. “Since when are you ever so rational?” he teased lightly, biting gently as that thumb traced his lips.

 

“When I’m in a good mood, like tonight,” Fenrir answered with a matching smirk, pressing down slightly on Harry’s mouth to part it so he could lean down and claim it with a deep but slow kiss. When he drew back to consider Harry’s expression, his eyes were bright with appreciation under the midnight sky. His fingers slid into Harry’s wayward hair, stroking, massaging his scalp.

 

Seeing such love held purely for him was always an overwhelming sight, even now and Harry could only exhale shakily as he stared right back.

 

“I want you to have the best of both worlds – of all worlds, you and the kids,” Fenrir said gruffly.

 

Harry reached up to trace his mate’s mouth and jaw with his own fingers now, love and respect for this man and how far he’d come filling him to the brim.

 

“I can’t promise to always be this level-headed though,” Fenrir mused, “In fact I can guarantee I’ll be jealous and hotheaded many more times in the future. Werewolves live long lives after all.”

 

That drew a breath of laughter from Harry. He leaned up to kiss him again before turning into his chest and just breathing him in. Yes, he thought, he could do this forever. And then some. All of it.“I wouldn’t want you any other way,” Harry assured him, closing his eyes again. A low, affectionate rumble of a growl from the lightly furred chest beneath his cheek was all the answer he needed.

 

 

_The End_


End file.
